BY-ABBE 

CARTER 

GOODLOE 


ls>&72i<^# 


jf 


College  Girls 


College    Girls 


By 

Abbe   Carter   Goodloe 


Illustrated  by 

Charles  Dana  Gibson 


New  York 
Charles    Scribner's    Sons 

.895 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
Charles  Scribtier's  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORY 
PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

Page 
A  Photograph,  ' 

An  Aquarelle, '7 

"La  Belle  Helene,"  .  -37 
As  Told  by  Her,  .  ...  67 
A  Short  Career,  .  .  .  95 
An  Episode,  ...  .  .  107 
Her  Decision,  .  .  •  '45 
Revenge,  ...  .163 
The  College  Beauty,  .  .187 
A  Telephoned  Telegram,  .  .  20) 
"Miss  Rose,"  ....  .2/5 
A  Short  Study  in  Evolution,  .  .  225 
The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff,  .  .  243 
Time  and  Tide, 267 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Is   it   tlm?" Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

She  stopped  and  her  face  grew  winter,     .        .      12 

"  They  wanted  him  to  put  them  in  bis  sto- 
ries,"         14 

The  political  economist,         ....      76 

"//  has  been  along  while  since  you  were  a 

student  here," 7$ 

"How  hind  you  are," 90 

' '  You  cannot  imagine  bow  anxious  the  girls 

are  to  see  you," 174 

"Play!" 776 

A  rather  chilling  influence,  ....    230 
She  had  stolen  furtive  glances  at  her,  .        .252 

When  the  two  women  were  within  a  few  feet 

of  each  other, 240 


A  PHOTOGRAPH 


A  PHOTOGRAPH 

THERE  was  a  great  deal  of  jangling  of  bells, 
and  much  laughter  and  talk,  and  the  chap- 
eron, who  was  an  assistant  Greek  professor, 
looked  as  if  she  had  never  heard  of  Aristoph- 
anes, and  listened  apparently  with  the  most 
intense  interest  to  a  Harvard  half-back  eagerly 
explaining  to  her  the  advantages  of  a  flying 
wedge  ;  and  when  the  College  loomed  in  sight, 
with  its  hundreds  of  lights,  and  the  sleigh  drew 
up  under  the  big  porte  cochere,  and  while  a  hand- 
some youth  was  bidding  his  sister,  the  hostess 
of  the  party,  an  unusually  affectionate  good-by, 
she  explained  to  the  rest  how  very  sorry  she 
was  she  could  not  invite  them  in.  But  the  Har- 
vard men,  in  a  feeling  sort  of  way,  said  they 
understood,  and  after  much  lifting  of  hats  and 
more  laughter,  the  sleigh  went  off,  and  the 
chaperon  and  her  charges  were  left  standing  in 
the  "  Centre." 

She  confessed  then  that  she  was  extremely 
tired  and  that  she  did  not  think  she  ever  cared 
again  to  see  the  "  winter  sports."  She  thought 


A  Photograph 


the  sight  afforded  her  that  afternoon,  of  two  nice 
boys,  very  scantily  clothed  and  with  bloody 
faces,  banging  away  at  each  other  until  they 
could  hardly  stand,  compared  with  the  view  of 
those  same  young  gentlemen  the  week  before  at 
the  College,  immaculately  dressed  and  with  very 
good-looking  noses  and  eyes,  was  entirely  too 
great  a  strain  on  her.  So  she  went  off  to  her 
study  and  left  the  excited  and  pleased  young 
women  to  stroll  down  the  corridor  to  Miss  Ron- 
ald's room,  to  talk  it  over  and  to  decide  for  the 
twentieth  time  that  Somebody  of  '94  ought  to 
have  come  off  winner  in  the  fencing  match,  in- 
stead of  Somebody  else  of  '93. 

The  room  they  went  into  was  a  typical  college 
room,  with  its  bookstands  and  long  chairs  and 
cushions  and  innumerable  trophies,  of  which 
Miss  Ronald  was  rather  proud.  She  was  a  styl- 
ish girl,  with  New  York  manners  and  clothes, 
and  a  pretty,  rather  expressionless  face,  strongly 
addicted  to  fads,  and  after  almost  four  years  of 
college  life  still  something  of  a  fool.  She  had 
become  popular  through  her  own  efforts  and  the 
fact  that  she  had  a  brother  at  Harvard.  If  a  girl 
really  wishes  to  be  a  favorite  in  college  she  must 
arrange  to  have  some  male  relative  at  a  neigh- 
boring university. 

The  sleighing  party  over  to  Harvard  for  the 

4 


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winter  sports  had  been  an  especial  success,  so 
her  guests  took  off  their  wraps  and  settled  them- 
selves in  her  chairs  in  a  very  cordial  sort  of  way, 
and  discussed  amiably  the  merits  of  the  tug-of- 
war,  while  someone  made  chocolate.  After  a 
while,  when  they  had  all  had  their  say  about  the 
pole-vaulting  and  the  running  jumps,  the  con- 
versation flagged  a  little  and  the  room  came  in 
for  its  share  of  attention. 

There  was  a  comparative  stranger  among  the 
guests — a  Miss  Meredith — to  whom  Miss  Ronald 
could  show  her  numerous  souvenirs  for  the  first 
time.  She  was  especially  glad  to  have  them  to 
show  to  this  particular  girl  because  she  thought 
they  would  impress  her — although  it  would  have 
been  a  little  difficult  for  a  casual  observer  to 
understand  just  why,  for  as  Miss  Meredith  was 
led  around  the  room  by  her  hostess,  from  the 
screen  made  of  cotillion  favors  and  the  collec- 
tion of  lamp-post  signs  presented  to  her  by 
Harvard  admirers  afflicted  with  kleptomania, 
over  to  the  smoking-cap  and  tobacco-pouch  of 
some  smitten  undergraduate,  anyone  could  see 
what  a  handsome  girl  she  was,  and  though  more 
plainly  dressed  than  the  others,  that  she  seemed 
to  be  thoroughly  at  her  ease.  Perhaps  Miss 
Ronald  expected  her  to  be  impressed  because 
she  had  taken  her  up,  and  had  first  introduced 
5 


A  Photograph 


her  to  this  set  and  made  a  success  of  her.  No 
one  had  known  anything  about  her  or  her  peo- 
ple, and  she  had  entered  shortly  before  as  a 
"  special  student,"  and  therefore  belonged  to  no 
particular  class.  She  was  evidently  a  little  older 
than  Miss  Konald  and  her  friends,  and  her  face 
was  somewhat  sad,  and  there  was  a  thoughtful 
look  in  the  eyes.  She  seemed  to  be  rather 
haughty,  too,  and  as  if  afraid  she  would  be 
patronized.  But  Miss  Ronald,  whose  particular 
craze  in  the  beauty  line  was  a  cream  complexion, 
gray  eyes,  and  red-brown  hair,  had  declared  the 
new-comer  to  be  lovely,  and  even  after  she  had 
discovered  that  this  handsome  girl  was  not  of 
her  own  social  standing,  that  her  people  were 
unknown  and  unimportant,  she  still  declared  her 
intention  of  cultivating  her.  She  had  found  this 
harder  to  do  than  she  had  expected,  and  so,  as 
she  led  her  around  the  room,  she  rather  delighted 
in  the  belief  that  she  was  impressing  this  girl 
by  the  many  evidences  of  a  gay  social  career. 

The  others,  who  had  seen  all  the  trophies 
many  times  before,  and  who  knew  just  which 
one  of  Miss  Ronald's  admirers  had  given  her  the 
Harvard  blazer,  and  where  she  had  got  the  Yale 
flag  and  the  mandolin  with  the  tiger-head  painted 
on  it — for  Miss  Ronald,  being  a  wise  young  lady, 
cultivated  friends  in  every  college — sat  back  and 

6 


A  Photograph 


talked  among  themselves  and  paid  very  little 
attention  to  what  the  other  two  were  doing. 
They  were  a  little  startled,  therefore,  by  a  low 
exclamation  from  the  girl  with  Miss  Ronald. 
She  had  stopped  before  a  long  photograph-case 
filled  with  pictures  of  first  violins  and  celebrated 
actors  and  college  men — all  the  mute  evidences 
of  various  passing  fancies.  Miss  Eonald,  who 
was  putting  away  the  faded  remains  of  some 
"  Tree-flowers  "  and  some  pictures  of  Hasty  Pud- 
ding theatricals,  looked  over  at  the  girl. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  carelessly,  and  then 
noting  her  pallor  and  the  direction  of  her  gaze 
she  laughed  in  an  embarrassed  little  way  and 
went  over  to  her. 

"  Is  it  this  ?  "  she  said,  taking  a  half-hidden 
photograph  from  among  the  jumble  of  pictures 
and  holding  it  up  to  the  view  of  all. 

It  was  the  photograph  of  a  young  man,  a  suc- 
cessful man,  whose  name  had  become  suddenly 
famous  and  whose  personality  was  as  potent  as 
his  talents.  He  was  not  handsome,  but  his  fine 
face  was  more  attractive  than  a  handsome  one 
would  have  been.  There  was  a  look  of  deter- 
mination in  the  firmly  closed  lips  and  square- 
cut  jaw,  and  an  indefinable  air  of  the  man  of 
the  world  about  the  face  which  rendered  it  ex- 
tremely fascinating.  On  the  lower  edge  of  the 

7 


A  Photograph 


picture  was  written  his  name,  in  a  strong,  bold 
hand  that  corresponded  with  the  look  on  the 
face. 

"  My  latest  craze,"  said  Miss  Ronald,  smiling 
rather  nervously  and  coloring  a  little  as  she  still 
held  the  picture  up.  There  was  a  slight  and 
awkward  pause,  and  then  half  a  dozen  hands 
reached  for  it.  There  was  not  a  girl  in  the 
room  who  had  not  heard  of  this  man  and  wished 
she  knew  him,  and  who  had  not  read  his  last 
book  and  the  latest  newspaper  paragraphs  about 
him.  But  their  interest  had  been  of  the  secretly 
admiring  order,  and  they  all  felt  this  girl  was 
going  a  little  too  far,  that  it  was  not  just  the 
thing  to  have  his  picture — the  picture  of  a  man 
she  did  not  know.  And  as  she  looked  around 
and  met  the  gray  eyes  of  the  girl  beside  her  she 
felt  impelled  to  explain  her  position  as  if  in  an- 
swer to  the  unspoken  scorn  in  them.  She  was 
embarrassed  and  rather  angry  that  it  had  all 
happened.  She  could  laugh  at  the  first-violins 
and  the  opera-tenors  and  the  English  actor — 
they  had  only  been  silly  fancies — but  this  one 
was  different.  Without  knowing  this  man  she 
had  felt  an  intense  interest  in  him  and  his  face 
had  fascinated  her,  and  she  had  persuaded  her- 
self that  he  was  her  ideal  and  that  she  could 
easily  care  for  him.  She  suddenly  realized  how 
6 


A  Photograph 


childish  she  had  been  and  the  ridiculousness  of 
it  all,  and  it  angered  her. 

"  Of  course  I  know  it  isn't  nice  to  have  his 
picture — in  this  way — "  she  began  defiantly, 
"  but  I  know  his  cousin — it  was  from  him  that  I 
got  this  photograph — and  he  has  promised  to 
introduce  us  next  winter."  She  seemed  to  for- 
get her  momentary  embarrassment  and  looked 
very  much  elated.  "Won't  that  be  exciting? 
I  shan't  know  in  the  least  what  to  say  to  him. 
Think  of  meeting  the  most  fascinating  man  in 
New  York!" 

"  Be  sure  you  recognize  him,"  murmured  one 
of  the  girls,  gloomily,  from  the  depths  of  a 
steamer-chair.  "  I  met  him  last  winter.  I  had 
never  seen  a  photograph  of  him  then,  and  not 
knowing  he  was  the  one,  I  talked  to  him  for  half 
an  hour.  "When  I  found  out  after  he  had  gone 
who  he  was,  I  couldn't  get  over  my  stupidity. 
My  mother  was  angry  with  me,  I  can  tell  you ! " 

Each  one  knew  something  about  him,  or  knew 
someone  who  knew  him,  or  the  artist  who  illus- 
trated his  stories,  or  the  people  with  whom  he 
had  just  gone  abroad,  or  into  what  thousandth 
his  last  book  had  got.  They  all  thought  him  a 
hero  and  fascinatingly  handsome,  and  they  de- 
clared with  the  sentimental  candor  of  the  very 
young  girl,  that  they  would  never  marry  unless 
9 


A  Photograph 

they  could  marry  a  man  like  that — a  man  who 
had  accomplished  great  things  and  had  a  future 
before  him,  and  who  was  so  clever  and  interest- 
ing and  distinguished-looking. 

The  girl  who  had  had  the  singular  good  fort- 
une to  meet  him  was  besieged  with  questions  as 
to  his  looks  and  manner  of  talking,  and  personal 
preferences,  to  all  of  which  she  answered  with  a 
fine  disregard  for  facts  and  a  volubility  out  of 
all  proportion  to  her  knowledge.  They  won- 
dered whether  his  play — he  had  just  written  one, 
and  the  newspapers  were  saying  a  great  deal 
about  its  forthcoming  production — would  be  as 
interesting  as  his  stories,  and  they  all  hoped  it 
would  be  given  in  New  York  during  the  Christ- 
mas holidays,  and  they  declared  that  they  would 
not  miss  it  for  anything. 

Only  one  girl  sat  silent,  her  gray  eyes  bright 
with  scorn — she  let  them  talk  on.  Their  opin- 
ions about  his  looks,  and  whether  he  was  con- 
ceited or  only  properly  sensible  of  his  successes, 
and  whether  the  report  was  true  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  Japan  in  the  spring,  seemed  indifferent 
to  her.  She  sat  white  and  unsmiling  through 
all  their  girlish  enthusiasm  and  sentimental 
talk  about  this  unknown  god  and  their  ideals 
and  their  expectations  for  the  future — and  when 
the  photograph,  which  had  been  passed  from 
10 


A  Photograph 


hand  to  hand,  reached  her,  she  let  it  fall  idly  in 
her  lap  as  though  she  could  not  bear  to  touch 
it.  As  it  lay  there,  a  hard  look  caine  into  her 
face.  When  she  glanced  up,  she  found  Miss 
Ronald  gazing  at  her  with  a  curious,  petulant 
expression. 

Suddenly  she  got  up  and  a  look  of  determina- 
tion was  upon  her  face  and  in  her  eyes.  Their 
talk  was  all  very  childish  and  silly,  but  she  could 
see  that  beneath  their  half-laughing  manner 
there  was  a  touch  of  seriousness.  This  man, 
with  his  fine  face  and  his  successes  and  personal 
magnetism,  had  exercised  a  strange  fascination 
over  them,  and  most  of  all  over  the  pretty,  senti- 
mental girl  looking  with  such  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion at  her. 

After  all,  this  girl  had  been  good  to  her.  She 
would  do  what  she  could.  She  stood  tall  and 
straight  against  the  curtains  of  the  window  fac- 
ing the  rest  and  breathing  quickly. 

"  Yes — I  know  of  him,"  she  said,  answering 
their  unspoken  inquiry.  "  You  think  you  know 
him  through  his  books  and  the  reviews  and 
newspaper  notices  of  him."  Her  voice  was  ring- 
ing now  and  she  touched  the  picture  lightly  and 
scornfully  with  her  finger. 

"  I  know  him  better  than  that.  I  know  things 
of  him  that  will  not  be  told  in  newspaper  para- 
11 


A  Photograph 


graphs  and  book  reviews."  She  paused  and  her 
face  grew  whiter.  "You  read  his  stories,  and 
because  they  are  the  best  of  their  kind,  the  most 
correct,  the  most  interesting,  because  his  men 
are  the  men  you  like  to  know,  men  who  are  al- 
ways as  they  should  be  to  men,  because  there 
is  an  atmosphere  of  refinement  and  elegance 
and  pleasing  conventionality  about  them — you 
think  they  must  be  the  reflex  of  himself.  O  yes ! 
I  know — the  very  last  story — you  have  all  read 
it — who  could  be  more  magnificent  and  correct 
than  Roscommon  ?  And  you  think  Mm  like  his 
hero !  There  is  not  one  of  you  but  would  feel 
flattered  at  his  attentions,  you  might  easily  fall 
in  love  with  him — I  dare  say  you  would  scarcely 
refuse  him — and  yet " — she  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  There  was  a  girl,"  she  began  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  in  a  tone  from  which  all  the  excite- 
ment had  died,  "  a  friend  of  mine,  and  she  loved 
him.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  before  he 
became  famous  he  lived  in  a  small  Western 
town — she  lived  there  too.  They  grew  up  to- 
gether, and  she  was  as  proud  of  him — well,  you 
know  probably  just  how  proud  a  girl  can  be  of 
a  boy  who  has  played  with  her  and  scolded  her 
and  tyrannized  over  her  and  protected  her  and 
afterward  loved  her.  For  he  did  love  her.  He 
told  her  so  a  thousand  times  and  he  showed  it 
12 


SHE    STOPPED   AND   HER    FACE 
GREW   WHITER 


A  Photograph 


to  lier  in  a  thousand  ways.  And  she  loved  him  ! 
I  cannot  tell  you  what  he  was  to  her."  They 
were  all  looking  curiously  at  her  white  face  and 
she  tried  to  speak  still  more  calmly. 

"  Well,  after  a  time  his  ambition — for  he  was 
very  ambitious  and  very  talented — made  him 
restless.  He  wanted  to  go  East — he  thought  he 
would  succeed.  She  let  him  go  freely,  willingly. 
His  success  was  hers,  he  said.  Everything  he 
was  to  do  was  for  her,  and  she  let  him  go,  and 
she  told  him  then  that  he  could  be  free.  But 
he  was  very  angry.  He  said  that  he  would 
never  have  thought  of  going  but  to  be  better 
worthy  of  her.  He  succeeded — you  know — the 
world  knows  how  well  he  has  succeeded,  and  the 
world  likes  success,  and  what  wonder  that  he 
forgot  her.  She  was  handsome — at  least  her 
friends  told  her  so — but  she  was  not  like  the 
girls  he  knows  now.  She  was  not  rich,  and  she 
had  never  been  used  to  the  life  of  luxury  and 
worldliness  to  which  he  had  so  quickly  accus- 
tomed himself.  But,"  she  went  on,  protestingly, 
as  if  in  reply  to  some  unspoken  argument  or 
some  doubt  that  had  assailed  her,  "she  could 
have  been  all  he  wished  her.  She  was  quick 
and  good  to  look  at,  and  well-bred.  She  could 
have  easily  learned  the  world's  ways — the  ways 
that  have  become  so  vital  to  him." 


A  Photograph 


She  stopped,  and  then  went  on  with  an  air  of 
careful  impartiality,  as  if  trying  to  be  just,  to 
look  at  both  sides  of  the  question,  and  her  beau- 
tiful face  grew  whiter  with  the  effort. 

"  But,  of  course,  she  was  not  like  the  girls  he 
had  met.  He  used  to  write  to  her  at  first  how 
disgusted  he  was  when  those  elegant  young 
ladies  would  pet  him  and  make  much  of  him  and 
use  him  and  his  time  as  they  did  everything  else 
in  their  beautiful,  idle  lives.  He  did  not  like 
it,  he  said ;  and  then  I  suppose  it  amused  him, 
and  then  fascinated  him.  They  would  not  let 
him  alone.  They  wanted  him  to  put  them  in 
his  stories,  and  he  had  to  go  to  their  dinners 
and  to  the  opera  with  them.  He  said  they 
wanted  someone  to  *  show  off' ;  and  at  first  he 
resented  it,  but  little  by  little  he  came  to  like  it 
and  to  find  it  the  life  he  had  needed  and  longed 
for,  and  to  forget  and  despise  the  simpler  one 
he  had  known  in  his  youth " 

She  stopped  again  and  pulled  nervously  at 
the  silk  fringe  of  the  curtain,  and  looked  at  the 
strained  faces  of  the  girls  as  if  asking  them 
whether  she  had  been  just  in  her  way  of  putting 
the  thing.  And  then  she  hurried  on. 

"  And  so  she  released  him.  He  had  not  been 
back  in  two  years — not  since  he  had  first  gone 
away,  and  she  knew  it  would  be  easier  to  do  it 

14 


A  Photograph 


before  she  saw  him  again.  And  so  when  she 
heard  of  his  success  and  how  popular  he  was, 
and  that  he  was  the  most  talked  about  of  all  the 
younger  authors,  she  wrote  him  that  she  could 
not  be  his  wife.  But  she  loved  him,  and  she  let 
him  see  it  in  the  letter.  She  bent  her  pride  that 
far — and  she  was  a  proud  girl !  She  told  her- 
self over  and  over  that  he  was  not  worthy  of  her 
— that  success  had  made  a  failure  of  him,  but 
she  loved  him  still  and  she  let  him  see  it.  She 
determined  to  give  him  and  herself  that  chance. 
If  he  stih1  loved  her  he  would  know  from  that 
letter  that  she,  too,  loved  him.  Well,  his  answer 
— she  told  me  that  his  answer  was  very  cold  and 
short.  That  if  she  wished  to  give  him  up  he 
knew  she  must  have  some  good  reason." 

Someone  stirred  uneasily,  and  gave  a  breath- 
less sort  of  gasp. 

"That  was  hard,"  she  went  on.  She  was 
speaking  now  in  an  impassive  sort  of  way.  "  But 
that  was  not  the  hardest.  She  saw  him  again. 

It  was  not  long  ago "  She  stopped  and  put 

one  hand  to  her  throat.  "  She  had  gone  away. 
She  desired  to  become  what  ho  had  wished  she 
was,  although  she  could  never  be  anything  to 
him  again,  and  she  was  succeeding,  and  thought 
that  perhaps  she  would  forget  and  be  happ}r. 
But  he  found  out  where  she  was,  and  went  to 

15 


A  Photograph 


her.  Something  had  gone  wrong  with  him.  You 
remember — he  was  reported  to  be  engaged  to  a 
young  girl  very  well  known  in  society — the 
daughter  of  a  senator,  and  a  great  beauty.  "Well, 
there  was  some  mistake.  He  came  straight  to 
my  friend  and  told  her  that  he  did  not  know 
what  he  had  been  doing,  that  she  was  the  only 
girl  he  had  ever  loved  and  he  asked  her  forgive- 
ness. He  told  her  that  his  life  would  be  worth- 
less and  mined,  that  his  success  would  mean 
less  than  nothing  to  him  if  she  did  not  love  him, 
and  he  implored  her  to  be  what  she  had  once 
been  to  him  and  to  marry  him." 

Miss  Ronald  looked  up  quickly,  and  the  petu- 
lant expression  in  her  eyes  had  given  place  to  a 
look  of  disdain. 

"  What  did  she  say  then?  "  she  asked. 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  mournfully. 

"  She  could  not,"  she  said,  simply.  "  She 
would  have  given  her  soul  to  have  been  able  to 
say  yes,  but  she  could  not !  " 

When  the  door  had  quite  closed  behind  her, 
they  sat  silent  and  hushed.  Suddenly  Miss 
Eonald  walked  over  to  the  window,  and  picking 
up  the  photograph  where  it  had  fallen,  face 
downward,  she  tore  it  into  little  bits. 


16 


AN   AQUARELLE 


AN   AQUARELLE 

A  LL  AKDTCE  felt  both  aggrieved  and  bored 
JT\  when  lie  found  that  his  sister  had  gone  off 
with  a  walking-party  and  was  not  likely  to  re- 
turn for  an  hour  or  two.  He  had  this  unwel- 
come bit  of  news  from  the  young  woman  in  cap 
and  gown  who  had  come  from  the  office  into  the 
reception-room  and  was  standing  before  him, 
glancing  every  now  and  then  from  his  face  to 
the  card  she  held,  with  a  severely  kind  look  out 
of  her  gray  eyes. 

"  I  telegraphed  her  I  was  in  Boston  and  would 
be  out,"  remarked  Allardyce,  in  an  injured  tone. 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  young  woman,  "  Miss 
Allardyce  had  left  word  in  the  office  that  she 
was  expecting  her  brother,  but  that  as  he  had 
not  come  by  the  2.30  or  3.10  train,  she  had  con- 
cluded he  was  detained  in  Boston,  and  that  if 
he  did  arrive  later  he  was  to  wait."  She  added 
that  he  would  be  obliged  to  do  so  in  any  case,  as 
there  was  no  express  back  to  Boston  for  two 
hours,  and  that  if  he  would  like  to  see  the  col- 

19 


An  Aquarelle 

lege  while  lie  waited  she  would  send  someone 
to  take  him  over  it. 

But  Allardyce  seemed  so  doubtful  as  to 
whether  he  cared  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  the  architecture  of  the  college,  and  so  dis- 
appointed about  it  all,  that  the  kindly  senior  felt 
sorry  for  him  and  suggested  sympathetically  that 
he  "  might  amuse  himself  by  strolling  through  the 
grounds."  She  could  not  have  been  over  twenty, 
but  she  had  all  the  seriousness  and  responsi- 
bility of  an  undergraduate,  and  Allardyce  sud- 
denly felt  very  young  and  foolish  in  her  presence 
and  wondered  hotly  how  old  she  thought  he 
was,  and  why  she  hadn't  told  him  to  "  run  out 
and  play."  He  decided  that  her  idea  was  a 
good  one,  however,  so  he  took  his  hat  and  stick 
and  wandered  down  the  south  corridor  to  the 
piazza.  Standing  there  he  could  see  the  lake 
and  the  many  private  boats  lying  in  the  bend  of 
the  shore,  each  fastened  to  its  little  dock,  and 
beyond,  the  boat-house  with  the  class  practice- 
barges,  slim  and  long,  just  visible  in  the  cool 
darkness  beneath.  He  thought  it  all  looked 
very  inviting,  and  there  was  a  rustic  bench  un- 
der a  big  tree  half-way  down  the  hill  where  he 
could  smoke  and  get  a  still  better  view  of  the 
water. 

So  he  settled  himself  quite  comfortably,  lit  a 
20 


An  Aquarelle 

cigarette,  and  looked  gloomily  out  over  the  lake. 
He  assured  himself  bitterly  that  after  haying 
been  abroad  for  so  many  years,  and  after  having 
inconvenienced  himself  by  taking  a  boat  to  Bos- 
ton instead  of  a  Cunarder  to  New  York — his 
natural  destination — in  order  to  see  his  sister, 
that  she  was  extremely  unkind  not  to  have 
waited  for  him.  He  was  deep  in  the  mental  com- 
position of  a  most  reproachful  note  to  her  when 
he  discovered  that  by  closing  his  eyes  a  little 
and  looking  intently  at  the  Italian  Gardens  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  water,  he  could  easily 
fancy  himself  at  a  little  place  he  knew  on  Lake 
Maggiore.  This  afforded  him  amusement  for  a 
while,  but  it  soon  palled  on  him,  and  he  was 
beginning  to  wonder  moodily  how  he  was  ever 
to  get  through  two  hours  of  the  afternoon,  when 
he  saw  a  young  girl  come  out  of  the  boat-house 
with  a  pair  of  sculls  and  make  her  way  to  one  of 
the  little  boats.  She  leaned  over  it,  and  Allar- 
dyce  could  see  that  she  was  trying  to  fit  a  key 
into  the  padlock  which  fastened  the  boat  to  its 
dock,  and  that  after  several  attempts  to  undo  it 
she  looked  rather  hopelessly  at  the  lock  and 
heavy  chain.  He  went  quickly  down  the  hill 
and  along  the  shore.  He  was  suddenly  ex- 
tremely glad  that  he  was  in  America,  where  he 
could  be  permitted  to  speak  to  and  help  a  girl, 
21 


An  Aquarelle 

even  if  a  total  stranger,  without  having  his  assist- 
ance interpreted  as  an  insult. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat. 
"Can  I  be  of  any  help?" 

The  girl  looked  up  a  little  startled,  but  when 
she  saw  the  tall,  good-looking  youth,  she  smiled 
in  a  relieved  sort  of  way  and  rose  quickly  from 
her  knees. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  she  said,  without  any  embar- 
rassment. "  I  can't  unlock  this ;  perhaps  you 
can." 

Allardyce  took  the  key,  and  kneeling  down 
fitted  it  in  its  place  and  turned  it  with  very  lit- 
tle effort.  The  girl  looked  rather  ruefully  at 
him  as  he  jumped  up. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  in  a  politely  distant 
way.  "  I  don't  see  why  I  could  not  have  done 
that.  I  am  very  strong  in  my  hands,  too." 

Allardyce  smiled  indulgently.  All  girls  were 
under  the  impression  that  they  were  strong.  At 
any  rate  this  one  was  tremendously  pretty,  ho 
decided — much  prettier  than  the  stately  senior 
he  had  encountered  up  at  the  college,  and  he  was 
glad  there  were  no  cap  and  gown  this  time.  He 
was  aware,  of  course,  that  he  ought  to  lift  his 
hat  and  move  on,  and  not  stand  there  staring  at 
her,  but  his  previous  solicitude  had  made  him 
feel  sociable. 

23 


An  Aquarelle 

"  Perhaps  you  will  let  me  put  the  oars  in  for 
you,"  he  suggested.  He  was  rather  alarmed 
after  he  had  spoken,  but  when  he  glanced  at  the 
girl  to  see  how  she  had  taken  his  further  self- 
invited  assistance  he  found  her  looking  at  him 
in  a  very  friendly  way.  All  at  once  he  felt  quite 
elated  and  at  his  ease.  It  had  been  a  long  while 
since  he  had  had  much  to  do  with  American 
girls,  and  he  concluded  that  all  that  had  been 
said  about  their  charming  freedom  and  cordial- 
ity of  manner  had  not  been  exaggerated.  But 
when  he  had  put  the  sculls  in  the  boat  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  it  would  not  do  to  presume 
too  far  on  that  freedom  and  cordiality,  and  that 
if  he  was  not  to  depart  immediately — and  he 
felt  no  inclination  to  do  so — he  must  offer  some 
sort  of  explanation  of  himself. 

"I  am  waiting  for  my  sister,"  he  remarked 
genially. 

"  Oh !  your  sister,"  echoed  the  girl. 

"  Yes — Miss  Allardyce.  Perhaps  you  are  in 
the  same  class,"  he  hazarded. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  a  slightly 
surprised  way,  and  then  out  across  the  water, 
and  Allardyce  saw,  as  she  turned  her  head  away 
from  him,  that  she  was  smiling. 

"  No,"  she  said  slowly,  "  but  I  know  her  quite 
well." 

23 


An  Aquarelle 

"  Ah !  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  the  young  man, 
boldly  and  cheerfully.  "  Now  I  feel  quite  as  if  I 
had  been  properly  introduced !  '  Les  amis  de 
nos  amis,'  you  know !  " 

The  girl  smiled  back  at  him.  "  I  am  Miss 
Brent.  By  the  way,  your  sister  has  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  the  only  Allardyce  in  college.  It's 
a  rather  unusual  name." 

"Yes,"  assented  Allardyce,  delightedly. 
"  Scotch,  you  know."  And  then  in  a  sudden 
burst  of  confidence — "  My  people  were  Scotch 
and  French.  I  have  been  educated  abroad  and 
have  come  home  for  the  law  course  at  the  Uni- 
versity. Awfully  glad  to  be  in  America  again, 
too,  for,  after  all,  I  am  an  American  through  and 
through."  He  pulled  himself  up  sharply  in  some 
confusion  and  amusement  at  his  unusual  loquac- 
ity. 

But  the  girl  before  him  did  not  seem  to  find 
it  strange,  and  was  quite  interested  and  politely 
attentive. 

"  And  where  is  your  sister  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  essential,  and  I  forgot  to  men- 
tion it,"  he  replied,  laughing  a  little  and  digging 
his  stick  into  the  soft  earth.  "  She's  gone  off 
walking ! "  and  then  he  went  on  insinuatingly 
and  plaintively — "  And  I  don't  know  a  soul 
here — never  was  here  before  in  my  life — and 

24 


An  Aquarelle 

there's  no  train  to  Boston,  and  I  have  to  wait 
two  hours  for  her !  " 

The  young  woman  smiled  sympathetically. 
"  That's  too  bad,"  she  said,  and  then  she  looked 
doubtfully  at  Allardyce.  He  seemed  very 
young  and  to  be  having  a  rather  bad  time  of  it, 
and  there  is  an  unwritten  law  at  the  college 
which  constitutes  every  member  of  it  the  natu- 
ral protector  and  entertainer  of  lost  or  bored 
strangers. 

"  I  am  going  across  the  lake  for  water-lilies," 
she  went  on  after  a  little  hesitation.  "  If  you 
care  to  come  you  may,  and  pull  me  about  while 
I  gather  them.  It  is  hard  work  to  do  it  alone." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Allardyce  promptly, 
"  and  it  is  very  nice  of  you  to  put  it  that  way. 
It  will  be  a  great  favor  to  me  to  let  me  go." 

He  rowed  her  across  the  water  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Italian  Gardens,  and  they  found  a 
good  deal  to  say  to  each  other,  and  she  seemed 
very  unaffected  and  friendly,  although  Allardyce 
fancied  once  or  twice  that  when  she  replied  to 
some  of  his  remarks  her  voice  trembled  in  an 
odd  way  as  if  she  were  secretly  amused.  But 
he  thought  her  delightful,  and  he  was  very  much 
obliged  to  her  for  taking  him  off  his  hands  in 
this  way,  though  he  could  not  help  feeling  some 
surprise  at  her  invitation.  Of  course  he  could 

25 


An  Aquarelle 


not  imagine  such  a  thing  happening  to  him  on 
the  Continent.  No  French  or  German  girl  would 
have  the  chance  or  enough  savoirfaire  to  treat 
him  as  this  girl  was  treating  him.  He  told  her 
all  this  in  more  veiled  terms  when  they  had 
reached  the  water-lilies,  and  he  had  turned 
around  in  his  seat  and  was  carefully  balancing 
the  boat  while  she  pulled  the  dripping,  long- 
stemmed  flowers.  Miss  Brent  laughed  outright 
at  his  remarks,  and  Allardyce  laughed  good-nat- 
uredly too,  although  what  he  had  said  did  not 
strike  him  as  being  at  all  amusing.  But  he 
was  glad  that  she  was  so  easily  diverted.  He 
reflected  that  perhaps  her  invitation  had  not 
been  entirely  disinterested — that  she  considered 
it  as  stupid  to  go  out  rowing  alone,  as  he  did  to 
wander  around  the  college  without  his  sister — 
and  that  as  she  had  been  kind  enough  to  save 
him  from  a  solitary  afternoon,  it  was  his  part  to 
be  as  amusing  and  entertaining  as  possible. 

"You  must  not  consider  us  in  the  light  of 
very  young  girls,"  she  explained.  "  You  know 
this  is  a  woman's  college." 

"  That's  what  is  so  nice,"  returned  Allardyce 
confidently.  "  You  are  girls  with  the  brains  and 
attainments  of  women.  That  is  a  very  delight- 
ful combination."  He  gave  her  an  openly  ad- 
miring, rather  patronizing  glance.  He  did  not 

26 


An  Aquarelle 

mean  to  be  superior  or  condescending,  but  he 
reflected  that  in  spite  of  her  ease  of  manner  she 
was  yet  in  college,  and  so  must  be  very  young. 
He  seemed  to  himself  to  be  quite  old  and  world- 
worn  in  comparison. 

Miss  Brent  looked  over  at  the  college  tower- 
ing up  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?  "  she  asked  politely, 
after  a  moment's  silence. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  see  anything  of  it,"  replied  Al- 
lardyce  easily,  leaning  his  elbows  comfortably 
on  the  unshipped  oars.  "I  got  my  walking 
papers  promptly  from  a  young  woman  up  there, 
and  so  I  left.  She  rather  frightened  me,  you 
know,"  he  ran  on.  "Awfully  severe-looking, 
cap  and  gown,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  thought 
if  that  was  only  an  undergraduate  I  didn't  want 
to  encounter  any  of  the  teachers — professors,  I 
believe  you  call  them — and  so  I  fled.  You  do 
have  women  prof essors,  don't  you?  "  he  inquired 
with  a  great  deal  of  awe. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Well — they  must  be  pretty  awful,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

The  girl  straightened  up  cautiously,  pulling 
at  the  rubber-like  stem  of  an  immense  lily. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said  carelessly.  She 
was  bending  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  Allar- 

27 


An  Aquarelle 

dyce  could  not  see  her  face ;  but  he  heard  the 
laugh  in  her  voice  again.  "  There !  there's  a 
boutonniere  for  you." 

Allardyce  caught  the  lily  she  swung  toward 
him  by  the  stem,  and  stuck  it  in  his  coat. 

"  I  suppose  that's  about  the  size  of  the  Rus- 
sian Giant's  button-hole  flower,"  he  remarked 
frivolously.  They  were  quite  good  friends  now. 
Allardyce  looked  over  at  the  college  again. 

"  You  must  find  it  pretty  slow  up  there,"  he 
said  confidentially.  "Can't  imagine  how  you 
girls  exist.  You  ought  to  go  to  a  Paris  boarding- 
school.  You  can  have  no  end  of  fun  there,  you 
know."  He  was  nodding  his  head  enthusias- 
tically at  her.  "  I  have  a  cousin  at  one  in  the 
Avenue  Marceau.  Went  to  see  her  just  before 
I  sailed  and  it  was  tremendously  amusing. 
These  French  girls  are  awful  flirts!  When  I 
went  away  every  girl  in  that  school  came  to  the 
windows  and  looked  at  me.  It  was  rather  try- 
ing, but  I  felt  that  for  once  I  knew  what  popu- 
larity was ! " 

Miss  Brent  buried  her  face  in  the  biggest  lily 
of  the  bunch. 

"  And — and  what  did  you  do  ?  "  she  inquired, 
in  suppressed  tones. 

"Oh— I?  Why  I  bowed  and  smiled  at  the 
whole  lot.  Must  have  looked  rather  like  an 

28 


An  Aquarelle 

idiot,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it ;  and  my  cousin 
wrote  me  she  got  into  no  end  of  trouble  about  it. 
One  of  the  mattresses  happened  to  see  me. 
But  it  was  great  fun  while  it  lasted.  And  after 
all  where  is  the  harm  of  a  little  flirting?"  he 
concluded,  judicially. 

"  Where  indeed  ?  "  assented  the  girl,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  That's  right  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  you 
say  that,"  broke  in  Allardyce,  approvingly. 
"  There's  something  wrong  with  a  woman  who 
doesn't  cry  or  flirt — it's  a  part  of  her  nature," 
he  went  on,  with  the  air  of  having  made  a  pro- 
foundly philosophic  discovery.  "  You  know 
you  agree  with  me,"  he  urged,  insinuatingly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Personally  I  don't  know,"  she  said;  "you 
see  I  am  so  busy " 

"  Oh !  I  say,"  cried  Allardyce,  "  you  don't 
mean  you  study  as  hard  as  that !  Of  course,"  he 
added  impartially,  "  it's  all  very  well  for  some 
girls  to  grind — "  he  stopped  in  alarm  as  the  girl 
drew  herself  up  slightly. 

"  I  hope  my  sister  doesn't  study  too  much," 
he  hastened  to  add,  lamely. 

Miss  Brent  put  her  handkerchief  suddenly  to 
her  lips,  which  were  trembling  with  laughter. 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  worry ! "  she  said. 

29 


An  Aquarelle 

Allardyce  was  considerably  mystified  and  a 
little  offended. 

"  But  she's  very  bright,"  added  the  girl, 
quickly;  "especially  in  mathematics,  where  I 
see  most  of  her ;  but  I  believe  she  is  not  a  very 
hard  student." 

"Well,"  said  Allardyce,  jocosely;  "I'll  tell 
you  a  secret.  I  am  the  hard  student  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  that's  much  better  than  that  my  sister 
should  be,  I  think.  I  don't  approve  of  girls 
working  too  hard.  It  makes  them  old — takes 
away  their  freshness — especially  if  they  go  in 
for  mathematics.  Do  you  know  I  have  never 
been  able  to  imagine  a  girl  mathematician 
anyway,"  he  ran  on,  confidentially.  "Always 
seemed  like  a  sort  of  joke.  Now  there  was  that 
English  girl — what  was  her  name,  who  was 
worse  than  a  senior  wrangler?  Her  photo- 
graphs were  just  everywhere.  I  was  in  Cam- 
bridge that  summer  and  they  were  in  all  the 
shop-windows,  and  I  would  stop  and  look  care- 
fully to  see  if  they  were  not  different  from  the 
ones  I  had  seen  the  day  before.  For  they  were 
quite  pretty  you  know,  and  I  was  always  hoping 
that  there  was  some  mistake  and  that  they  had 
got  some  other  young  woman,  entirely  innocent, 
mixed  up  with  her." 

There  was  so  much  genuine  distress  in  his 

30 


An  Aquarelle 

tone  that  Miss  Brent  made  an  heroic  attempt  not 
to  laugh. 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed,  "  don't  say  that — 
some  people  think  I  am  good  at  mathematics 
myself." 

Allardyce  shook  his  head  at  her.  "  I'm  sure 
it's  a  mistake — you  are  trying  to  impose  on  me," 
he  said,  with  mock  severity.  "  At  any  rate  I 
am  glad  my  sister  is  guiltless  of  any  such  accu- 
sation. We  are  under  the  impression  that  she 
goes  in  for  a  good  time  at  college — at  least  one 
would  suppose  so  from  her  letters.  I  got  one 
from  her  just  before  I  left  Paris  in  which  she 
gave  me  a  very  amusing  account  of  some  blow- 
out here — some  class  function  or  other,  and  she 
seemed  dreadfully  afraid  that  the  faculty  would 
get  hold  of  the  details.  She  says  you  stand 
tremendously  in  awe  of  your  faculty.  Wait  a 
minute — I've  got  the  letter  here  somewhere," 
he  went  on,  fumbling  in  his  pockets.  "  Didn't 
think  much  of  the  affair  considered  in  the  light 
of  a  scrape,  but  she  seemed  to  think  it  exciting 
and  dangerous  to  the  last  degree.  That's  where 
you  girls  are  so  funny — you  think  you  are  doing 
something  immensely  wrong  and  it  is  just  noth- 
ing at  all.  I  see  I  haven't  the  letter  with  me  ; 
but  perhaps  you  were  in  it  all  and  know  a  great 
deal  more  about  it  than  I  do." 


Miss  Brent  suddenly  twisted  herself  around 
in  the  boat,  and  reached  for  an  especially  big 
lily. 

« No—"  she  said,  "  I— I  don't  think  I  was 
there.  "Will  you  pull  a  little  on  the  left  oar — a 
little  more,  please.  It's  that  lily  I  want !  " 

"  There's  another  thing  about  girls,"  resumed 
Allardyce  meditatively  and  kindly,  when  the 
boat  had  straightened  back.  "  You  seem  to 
think  it  a  terrible  calamity,  a  disgrace,  to  get 
plucked  in  an  examination.  Now  a  man  takes 
it  philosophically.  Of  course,  it  isn't  a  thing 
one  especially  cares  to  have  happen  one  ;  but  it 
doesn't  destroy  a  fellow's  interest  in  life,  nor 
make  him  feel  particularly  ashamed  of  himself. 
He  just  goes  to  work  with  a  tutor  and  hopes 
for  better  luck  next  time.  That's  the  best 
way  to  take  it,  don't  you  think  ?  But  perhaps 
you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Ever  get 
plucked  ? — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  added  has- 
tily. 

But  the  girl  did  not  appear  at  all  offended. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  ask  that,"  she  said,  leaning 
back  and  laughing  at  him ;  "  at  any  rate,"  she 
added,  with  an  air  of  careful  consideration,  "  I 
don't  think  I  ever  got  '  plucked  '  in — mathemat- 
ics. And  now  you  must  take  me  back." 

Allardyce  gave   a  shudder  of  mock   horror. 

33 


An  Aquarelle 

"  Oh,  mathematics !  "  he  said,  picking  up  the 
oars. 

When  they  were  half-way  across  the  lake 
Allardyce  saw  a  young  girl  standing  on  the 
shore  waving  at  them. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  looking  intently  at  the  figure, 
"  I  believe  it  is  my  sister." 

Miss  Brent  leaned  forward. 

"  Yes,  it  is  your  sister,"  she  said  slowly,  and 
she  smiled  a  little. 

Miss  Allardyce  kissed  her  brother  with  a  great 
show  of  affection,  and  told  him  how  sorry  she 
was  to  have  missed  him.  "  And  I  am  sure  it 
was  very  good  of  you  to  have  taken  care  of  him," 
she  went  on  impressively  and  gratefully,  turning 
to  Miss  Brent.  But  that  young  lady  disclaimed 
any  merit. 

"  We've  had  a  delightful  afternoon,"  she  de- 
clared, "  and  your  brother  has  been  very  good 
to  pull  me  about  and  keep  the  boat  from  tip- 
ping over,  while  I  gathered  these  lilies.  I  am 
very  glad  to  have  met  him.  Good  afternoon." 

"  Charming  girl !  "  murmured  Allardyce,  ap- 
preciatively, digging  his  stick  in  the  earth,  and 
leaning  on  it  as  he  looked  after  Miss  Brent. 

"  We  had  an  awfully  jolly  time  together,"  he 
went  on,  to  the  girl  beside  him  ;  "  sort  of  water- 
picnic,  without  the  picnic." 

33 


An  Aquarelle 

Miss  Allardyce  looked  sharply  at  her  brother. 
Something  in  his  manner  made  her  anxious. 
"  How  did  you  meet  her  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Oh !  that's  the  best  part,"  said  Allardyce  joy- 
ously. "  Wasn't  introduced  at  all.  I  offered  to 
unlock  her  boat  for  her,  and  I  liked  her  looks  so 
much  that  I  hated  to  go  away,  so  I  asked  her  if 
she  was  in  your  class,  and  she  said  '  No,'  but  that 
she  knew  you,  and  that  I  considered  was  intro- 
duction enough.  We  just  went  off  together  and 
had  a  very  good  time.  Lucky  for  me  that  some- 
body took  me  up  when  my  own  sister  went  off 
and  left  me,"  he  added  reproachfully. 

Miss  Allardyce  shook  her  head  impatiently. 
"  Never  mind  about  me."  She  looked  anxiously 
at  her  brother.  "  What  did  you  say  to  her  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  don't  remember  exactly  ; "  he  replied 
vaguely  and  cheerfully.  "We  talked  a  good 
deal — at  least  /  did,"  with  a  sudden  realization 
of  how  he  had  monopolized  the  conversation. 
"About  French  boarding-schools  and  women 
professors  and  getting  plucked  in  examinations, 
and  I  told  her  about  that  scrape  you  wrote  me 
of.  She  hasn't  a  bit  of  nonsense  about  her,"  he 
went  on  enthusiastically.  "  She  didn't  say  much, 
but  I  am  sure  she  agreed  with  me  that  girls  are 
by  nature  flirts,  and  not  mathematicians." 

Miss  Allardyce  gave  a  little  gasp.     "  Well," 

34 


An  Aquarelle 

she  said,  with  a  sort  of  desperate  calmness, 
"  you've  done  it  now  !  Do  you  know  who  that 
was  you  were  talking  too  ?  That  was  the  assist- 
ant-professor of  mathematics.  Oh !  yes,  I  know 
she  looks  awfully  young,  and  she  is  young.  I 
suppose  you  think  a  woman  has  to  be  fifty  be- 
fore she  knows  anything.  Why  she  only  took 
her  degree  two  years  ago,  and  she  was  so  tre- 
mendously clever  that  she  went  off  and  studied 
a  year  in  Leipsic  and  then  came  back  as  in- 
structor in  mathematics,  and  this  year  when  one 
of  the  assistant-professors  was  called  suddenly 
to  Europe,  she  was  made  assistant-professor  in 
her  place,  and  they  say  she's  been  a  most  won- 
derful success.  And  I  know  she  is  pretty ;  but 
that  doesn't  prevent  her  examinations  from  being 
terrors,  and  I  didn't  get  through  the  last  one  at 
all,  and  if  you  told  her  about  that  scrape,  and 

that  women  ought  not  to  be  mathematicians " 

she  stopped  breathlessly  and  in  utter  despair. 

Allardyce  whistled  softly  and  then  struck  his 
stick  sharply  against  the  side  of  the  little  dock. 
"  Well,"  he  exclaimed  indignantly,  "  she's  most 
deceitfully  young  and  pretty,"  and  then  he 
turned  reproachfully  upon  his  sister.  "  It's  all 
your  fault,"  he  said  ;  "  what  did  you  go  off  walk- 
ing for?" 


35 


"LA  BELLE   HELENE 


"LA  BELLE  HfiLENE" 

Mrs.  Olmsted  Morrison  to  Mrs.  Franklin  Ben- 
nett, Rhinebeck-on-Hudson 

BALTIMORE,  October  20th. 

MY  DEABEST  ALMA:  As  we  have  been 
confiding  our  joys  and  woes  to  each 
other  for  the  last  twenty-five  years,  it  is  to  you 
I  naturally  write  about  this  new  trial  which  has 
come  into  my  life.  You  will  probably  think  it 
pen  de  chose,  but  I  assure  you,  my  dear,  that  if 
you  really  and  truly  put  yourself  in  my  place 
you  will  realize  that  it  is  an  annoyance. 
Henry's  child  has  at  last  written  to  me  that  she 
"  has  finished  her  studies  for  the  present "  (!) 
and  is  coming  to  America  to  spend  the  winter 
with  us.  You  must  see,  Alma,  that  this  is 
slightly  appalling.  I  have  never  seen  her — not 
since  she  was  a  little  thing  with  enormous  gray 
eyes  and  a  freckled  nose — and  I  know  absolutely 
nothing  about  her  except  what  Henry  wrote  me 
from  time  to  time,  when  he  stopped  his  eternal 

39 


La  Belle  Httone  " 


wanderings  long  enough  to  remember  he  had  a 
sister.  But  judging  by  the  education  he  gave 
her — and  I  consider  it  simply  deplorable — and 
the  evident  taste  she  had  for  it,  and  later  for 
"  the  higher  education  of  woman,"  I  feel  dis- 
tressingly positive  that  I  cannot  approve  of  the 
child.  I  am  very  sorry  now  that  I  did  not 
make  an  effort  to  go  to  her  when  her  father 
died  in  England,  five  years  ago,  but  she  wrote 
me  that  she  had  friends  there  who  were  doing 
everything  for  her,  and  that  she  was  coming  di- 
rectly to  America  to  enter  college  according  to 
her  father's  wishes,  and  that  there  was  really  no 
need  to  disturb  myself  about  her.  I  could  see, 
Alma,  the  effect  of  the  independent,  strange  ex- 
istence she  had  led,  in  that  letter.  It  repelled 
me.  Now,  Eleanor,  I  am  sure,  would  have  been 
completely  prostrated,  the  dear  child ! 

So  she  came  directly  to  Boston,  and  I,  being 
so  busy  with  my  own  preparations  for  taking 
Eleanor  and  Margaret  to  Paris,  simply  could 
not  arrange  to  go  on  to  Boston  to  see  her.  As 
of  course  you  know,  we  remained  abroad  four 
years,  and  last  year,  when  we  returned  and  I  ex- 
pected to  see  Helen  at  last,  she  wrote  me  a  letter 
which  I  got  just  before  leaving  Paris,  saying 
that  she  had  decided  to  go  to  Oxford  for  a  year 
to  take  a  course  in  mathematical  astronomy  at 

40 


La  Belle  Helene  " 


the  Lady  Margaret  Hall.  So  we  passed  each 
other  in  mid-ocean. 

Fancy,  Alma !  I  knew  when  I  read  that  letter 
what  kind  of  a  girl  she  was.  One  of  your  hard 
students,  engrossed  in  books,  without  one 
thought  for  dress  or  social  manners!  I  am 
afraid  she  will  prove  a  severe  trial.  And  just 
when  Eleanor  is  counting  on  having  such  a  gay 
second  winter  and  Margaret  is  to  debut.  It  is 
a  little  hard,  is  it  not,  dear  ?  Thank  Heaven,  I 
shall  never  have  to  blame  myself  as  Henry  would 
have  to  do  if  he  were  alive.  At  least  /  have  seen 
to  it  that  my  daughters  have  had  the  education 
which  will  fit  them  to  ornament  society,  the  edu- 
cation that  I  still  believe  in  notwithstanding  all 
this  talk  of  colleges  for  women  and  advance- 
ment in  learning,  and  college  settlements  and 
extensions,  and  Heaven  knows  what  besides ! 

J///  girls  have  had  first,  the  best  of  training  at 
Mrs.  Meed's,  and  then  four  years  at  Les  Oiseaux, 
you  know.  They  speak  French  perfectly,  of 
course,  and  Margaret  has  even  tried  Italian  and 
German.  They  both  ride  and  drive  well,  and 
Eleanor  plays  and  sings  very  sweetly.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  my  telling  you  about  them 
when  you  know  them  so  well  ? 

I  only  wish,  Alma,  you  could  tell  me  some- 
thing about  Helen  !  Just  think,  I  have  never  even 

41 


"  La  Belle  Hellm  " 


seen  a  photograph  of  her !  It  is  one  of  her  fads 
not  to  have  them  taken,  from  which  I  argue 
that  she  is  very  homely,  very  opinionated,  and 
very  strange.  Eleanor  has  two  dozen  in  differ- 
ent poses,  I  am  sure.  The  only  information  I 
have  at  all  about  Helen's  looks  is  from  Marga- 
ret, who  saw  her  for  an  hour  in  Brookline — it 
was  five  years  ago — just  before  we  sailed.  She 
had  run  up  to  see  a  Boston  friend  for  a  few  days, 
and  of  course  she  was  very  young  and  has  prob- 
ably forgotten,  but  she  insists  that  Helen  was 
rather  pretty.  However,  I  do  not  attach  the 
least  importance  to  what  Margaret  says,  because, 
as  you  know,  she  is  so  good-natured  that  she 
always  says  the  best  of  everyone ;  and  then  her 
tastes  are  sometimes  really  deplorable — so  un- 
like Eleanor's!  Besides,  her  description  of 
Helen  does  not  sound  like  that  of  a  pretty  girl. 
She  says  she  wore  her  hair  parted  and  back 
from  her  face,  and  was  slightly  near-sighted. 
Think  of  it,  Alma !  For  the  hair,  encore  passe, 
Mr.  Gibson  and  Mr.  Wenzell  have  made  that  so 
much  the  fashion  lately  that  one  might  forgive 
it ;  but  short-sighted !  Eye-glasses !  Spectacles 
perhaps !  Hard  study  since  may  have  com- 
pletely ruined  her  eyes.  I  greatly  fear  she  will 
show  up  very  badly  beside  Eleanor's  piquant 
beauty  and  Margaret's  freshness. 

42 


La  Belle  Helene" 


She  writes  me  that  she  will  be  here  in  a 
month,  so  that  it  is  time  I  was  seriously  con- 
sidering what  I  am  to  do  with  her.  Of  course, 
with  the  severe  education  she  has  had,  she  prob- 
ably dislikes  society  and  could  not  be  induced  to 
go  out,  knowing  well  that  she  could  not  shine  in 
it;  but  as  my  brother's  child  she  must  be  at 
least  introduced  properly,  and  she  can  then 
subside  gracefully.  Of  course,  where  there  are 
two  such  attractive  girls  in  the  house  as  Eleanor 
and  Margaret,  she  cannot  hope  to  compete  in 
social  honors  with  them,  and  will  probably 
much  prefer  in  any  case  to  continue  her  studies 
or  go  in  for  charitable  work,  or  something  of 
that  sort. 

My  dear  Alma,  I  have  just  read  over  this 
letter  and  am  shocked  to  see  how  much  I  have 
written  about  this  affair.  Forgive  me  if  I  have 
wearied  you  and — yes,  do  give  me  some  good 
advice. 

Are  you  going  to  Carlsbad  ? 

The  girls  are  out  of  town  for  a  few  days,  or 
would  send  love  as  I  do. 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

MAEIAN  MORRISON. 

P.S.  They  say  a  woman  cannot  write  a  letter 
without  a  postscript,  and  I  believe  it !  Tell  me 

43 


La  Belle  H&tene 


what  to  do  about  H.  How  had  I  best  introduce 
her  to  society?  Don't  you  think  a  dinner — 
where  she  could  sit  beside  someone  whom  I 
could  especially  choose  as  suited  to  her — and 
where  she  would  not  be  too  much  en  evidence  ? 
A  dance  would  not  do  at  all — I  doubt  if  she  can 
dance,  poor  girl ! 

M.  M. 

Mrs.   Franklin  Bennett  to  Mrs.  Olmsted  Mor- 
rison. 

October  22d. 

MY  DEAREST  MARIAN:  How  could  you  think 
me  so  cold-blooded  as  to  consider  such  a  piece 
of  news  as  your  letter  contains  "pen  de  chose"  ? 
I  feel  for  you,  I  assure  you.  What  a  dilemma ! 
The  dear  girls!  how  do  they  like  the  idea? 
Margaret,  as  you  say,  will  probably  not  mind, 
but  Eleanor — so  exquisitely  pretty  and  stylish  ! 
It  will  be  rather  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  I  imagine. 
O !  how  I  wish  I  had  children — two  such  lovely 
girls  as  yours  would  make  life  a  different  thing 
for  me ! 

Of  course,  the  dinner.  How  could  you  think 
of  anything  else !  Invite  some  of  the  professors 
from  the  University  for  her,  and  have  the  rest 
of  the  company  of  young  society  people,  so  that 
Eleanor  and  Margaret  can  enjoy  it  too. 

44 


La  Belli  Helene" 


Oh,  my  dear,  I  would  like  to  write  a  long, 
long  letter  about  this,  but  I  am  in  such  confu- 
sion and  hurry !  Mr.  Bennett  has  been  ordered 
to  Wiesbaden  for  the  winter,  and  we  sail  in  a 
week.  I  wish  I  could  be  in  Baltimore  to  help 
you,  but  it  is  impossible,  of  course.  I  count  on 
your  writing  me  all  your  plans,  and  just  how 
Helen  appears,  and  whether  it  is  all  as  dreadful 
as  you  now  fear.  Address  to  the  Langham  Ho- 
tel until  November  25th,  after  that,  care  Brown, 
Shipley,  as  usual.  Good-by.  I  have  a  thousand 
things  to  tell  you  of,  but  must  put  them  off  un- 
til I  reach  London  and  have  a  moment  to  my- 
self. 

As  ever, 
Devotedly  yours, 

A.  B. 

P.S.  Don't  look  too  much  on  the  dark  side 
of  things.  I  knew  a  Philadelphia  girl  once — 
the  niece  of  old  Colonel  Devereaux  you  know 
— and  she  was  rather  pretty  and  quite  good 
form,  though  a  college  girl.  I  think,  however, 
she  had  been  but  one  year  to  college. 

A.  B. 


45 


"  La  Belle  Hellne  " 


Mrs.  Olmsted  Morrison  to  Mrs.  Franklin  Bennett, 
the  Langharn  Hotel,  London,  W.  C. 

BALTIMORE,  November  15th. 

DEAREST  ALMA  :  Your  note,  which  was  so  wel- 
come and  which  came  so  long  ago,  would  have 
had  an  earlier  answer  had  I  not  been  a  little 
sick,  and  so  busy  and  worried  that  I  have  not 
had  time  or  heart  to  write  even  to  you.  So 
you  can  imagine  in  what  a  state  I  am. 

The  girls  came  back  to  town  shortly  after  I 
last  wrote  you,  and  we  held  a  sort  of  family 
council  about  Helen.  The  dear  girls  were 
charming,  and  Eleanor  bore  it  very  bravely. 
She  says  she  will  give  Helen  hints  about  her 
hair,  and  will  implore  her  not  to  wear  spectacles, 
but  rimless  eye-glasses. 

We  are  very  much  worried  about  her  gowns. 
Of  course  her  own  taste  is  not  to  be  depended 
upon,  and  I  hardly  fancy  her  income  would 
justify  her  in  leaving  her  toilette  entirely  with  a 
grande  couturiere,  even  if  she  would  dream  of  do- 
ing such  a  thing,  which  I  very  much  doubt.  Her 
father,  you  know,  left  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to 
found  a  library  in  Westchester.  He  always  said 
he  never  intended  to  leave  Helen  enough  to 
tempt  anyone  to  marry  her  for  her  money. 

46 


La  Belle  Hellne" 


Poor  Henry — what  a  strange,  misguided  man ! 
But  then,  of  course,  he  could  not  foresee  that 
his  daughter  would  be  an  ugly  duckling,  and 
strong-minded  and  college-bred,  and  all  that. 
Oh,  yes,  of  course  he  must  have  known  about 
the  college.  But  at  any  rate,  man-like,  he  did 
not  realize  how  unattractive  Helen  would  be. 

Well,  as  I  say,  we  talked  it  over,  and  the  girls 
agree  with  me  that  the  best  thing  is  a  dinner. 
Eleanor  was  for  having  it  a  small  affair.  She 
said  it  would  be  truer  kindness  to  Helen,  but 
Margaret,  who  is  very  blunt  sometimes,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  said  she  thought  "  we  ought  to  give 
Helen  a  chance,"  as  she  rather  vulgarly  ex- 
pressed it,  and  insisted  so  strongly  on  it  that  we 
gave  in,  and  have  decided  to  have  a  dinner,  and 
invite  some  of  Eleanor's  friends  later  to  a  small 
dance.  This  will  relieve  Eleanor  of  some  of  her 
more  pressing  social  obligations,  and  she  will 
also  be  able  to  introduce  Margaret  to  some  of 
her  particular  set  before  she  makes  her  formal 
debut  later  in  the  season.  A  debutante  cannot 
have  too  many  friends. 

And  so,  after  talking  it  over,  we  determined 
to  invite  Professor  Radnor,  of  the  University. 
He  is  a  comparatively  young  man — about  forty- 
five,  I  judge— and  though  far  from  handsome  he 
is  considered  very  interesting,  I  believe,  to  those 

47 


La  Belle  Helene  " 


who  understand  him.  He  is  of  good  family,  too 
— one  of  the  Badnors  of  Cliff  Hill,  you  know. 
He  and  Helen  can  talk  biology  or  whatever  it  is 
he  professes — I  really  forget  what  it  is.  Then 
there  is  Colonel  Gray — I  shall  invite  him  be- 
cause he  was  an  old  friend  of  her  father,  and 
though  very  grumpy  and  disagreeable,  and  apt 
to  bore  one  to  death  with  his  interminable 
war  stories,  still  I  always  invite  him  to  the 
house  once  a  year,  and  he  is  to  be  depended 
upon  to  come ;  and  indeed,  Alma,  I  am  so  per- 
plexed to  know  whom  to  invite  that  I  really 
cannot  pick  and  choose.  Then  I  think  I  shall 
have  the  new  rector  at  "  All  Souls."  He  is  a 
young  man,  an  Englishman,  and  as  stupid  as  the 
proverbial  Britisher ;  very  high  church,  and  as  I 
have  not  yet  invited  him  to  dinner,  I  think  the 
choice  of  Mm  rather  diplomatic.  It  really  has 
been  too  much  of  an  exertion  to  get  up  a  din- 
ner-party for  him  alone,  and  indeed  Eleanor  can- 
not bear  him,  she  says ;  but  with  her  usual  sweet- 
ness has  consented  to  have  him  come  if  Helen 
and  Margaret  will  take  him  off  her  hands.  He 
and  Helen  will  doubtless  find  much  to  say  to 
each  other  about  Dr.  Bernardo,  and  the  Peo- 
ple's Palace,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  think 
with  these  three  I  can  safely  let  the  girls  take 
care  of  the  rest,  and  invite  younger  people  who 

48 


La  Belle  Helene  " 


will  be  congenial  to  them.  I  say  younger  peo- 
ple, for  Helen  must  be  twenty-three  or  four,  and 
she  will  doubtless  seem  much  older  and  graver. 
You  see  I  shall  be  prepared ;  I  know  this  will 
be  an  ordeal,  but  I  mean  to  do  the  best  for  her 
that  I  can.  I  shall  have  everything  as  hand- 
some as  possible — the  girls  are  particularly  anx- 
ious about  it — as  Eleanor  proposes  asking  young 
Claghart,  the  new  artist,  you  know,  who  is  mak- 
ing such  a  name  for  himself. 

Helen  will  be  here  in  a  week.  I  shall  send  out 
the  invitations  in  a  day  or  two,  so  as  to  have  no 
refusals — dinner  engagements  are  already  get- 
ting numerous.  I  shall  let  you  know  all  about 
Helen  and  the  dinner-party.  I  know  you  are  as 
interested  as  myself  in  this,  and  that  you  sym- 
pathize with  me.  Poor  Henry !  to  think  that  he 
should  have  given  me  a  niece  who  has  spent  the 
best  years  of  her  life  shut  up  in  colleges,  and 
ruining  health  and  looks  in  sedentary,  intellect- 
ual pursuits ! 

The  Kinglakes  were  here  yesterday  and  send 
their  kindest  regards  to  you.  Good-by !  A  thou- 
sand best  wishes  for  a  happy  trip.  Do  tell  Mr. 
Bennett  how  much  I  hope  he  will  be  improved 
by  Wiesbaden. 

Write  soon  to  your  devoted  friend, 

MARIAN  M. 

49 


La  Belle  Helene  " 


Mrs.  Olmsted  Morrison  to  Colonel  Ralph  Gray. 

MY  DEAR  COLONEL:  Of  course  it  is  to  you, 
Henry's  oldest  friend,  that  I  write  first  to  tell 
the  charming  news  that  his  daughter  Helen  is 
coming  to  us  in  a  week.  She  has  "  finished  her 
studies  for  the  present,"  so  she  writes,  and  we 
are  at  last  to  see  the  dear  child.  We  are  de- 
lighted to  have  her  come,  and  feel  that  she  must 
meet  you  at  once.  You  will  certainly  find  her 
to  your  taste,  as  she  is  so  highly  educated  and 
not  at  all  like  these  society  girls  whom  you  justly 
condemn  as  utterly  frivolous. 

"We   have  arranged  a  little   dinner-party  for 
Thursday,   the   twenty  -  fourth,   and    positively 
count  on  you  to  come  and  put  us  all  in  a  good 
humor  with  one  of  your  inimitable  war  stories. 
Most  cordially  your  friend, 

MARIAN  V.  MORRISON. 

Friday,  November  the  eighteenth. 

Mrs.  Morrison  to  the  Reverend  Percival  Beaufort. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  BEAUFORT  :  Will  you  give  us 
the  great  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  dinner  on 
Thursday  evening,  at  half-past  eight?  Only 
severe  illness  has  kept  me  from  asking  this 
favor  long  ago,  so  that  I  very  much  hope  noth- 

50 


La  Belle  Htllm  " 


ing  will  prevent  your  accepting  now.  Eleanor 
tells  me  to  remind  you  that  the  Young  People's 
Guild  has  been  changed  to  Wednesday  evening, 
so  at  least  that  will  not  interfere  with  your  ac- 
ceptance. If  you  come,  virtue  will  not  be  its 
own  reward  in  this  case.  I  have  a  niece  whom 
I  am  particularly  anxious  you  should  meet.  She 
is  intensely  interested  in  all  charities — especially 
London  charities — and  is  very  quiet  and  charm- 
ing, if  not  exactly  pretty.  But  I  am  sure  you 
agree  with  me  that  beauty  is  often  only  a  snare ! 

The  girls  particularly  wish  to  be  remembered. 
Most  truly  yours, 

MARIAN  V.  MORRISON. 

Friday,  November  the  eighteenth. 

Mrs.   Morrison    to    Professor    Albert    Radnor, 
Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore. 

November  the  eighteenth. 

MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  EADNOR:  Can  we  per- 
suade you  to  abandon  your  lectures  and  experi- 
ments long  enough  to  dine  with  us  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  twenty-fourth  ?  I  know  we  are  very 
frivolous  and  not  at  all  the  people  to  interest 
you,  however  much  you  interest  us,  but  I  fancy 
I  shall  have  someone  here  whom  you  will  be 
glad  to  meet.  I  want  you  to  know  my  niece, 

51 


La  Belle  HeVene" 


Miss  Helen  Hammersley.  She  is  an  immensely 
clever  girl — has  taken  her  degree  at  one  of  our 
famous  women's  colleges,  and  has  just  returned 
from  a  year  of  Oxford  and  the  Bodleian,  so  that 
I  feel  reasonably  sure  she  will  be  able  to  listen 
intelligently  to  you,  at  any  rate.  She  is  greatly 
interested  in  your  specialty,  and  will  certainly 
esteem  it  the  greatest  privilege  to  meet  such  a 
noted  authority  on  the  subject  as  yourself. 
I  will  take  no  excuse. 

Very  sincerely  your  friend, 

MARIAN  V.  MOEBISON. 

Miss  Eleanor  Morrison  to  Miss  Grace  Fairfax, 
Washington,  D.  C. 

November  19th. 

DEAREST  GRACE  :  We  are  sending  out  invita- 
tions to  dinner  and  small  dance  afterward  in 
honor  of  a  cousin  of  ours,  Helen  Hammersley, 
who  is  coming  from  England  to  spend  the  win- 
ter with  us,  and  of  course  we  thought  of  you 
first  and  foremost.  You  must  come  and  save 
the  situation  with  your  brilliancy  and  tact. 
There !  can  you  refuse  me  after  that  ?  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  dear,  we  are  all  awfully  worried  about 
the  whole  thing.  "We  none  of  us  know  Helen  at 
all,  and  we  are  simply  au  desespoir  about  her  be- 

52 


La  Belle  Helene  " 


cause  she  is  such  a  strange  girl.  She  has  been 
at  college  for  five  years— first  in  America  and 
then  at  Oxford,  and  we  all  feel  miserably  sure 
of  what  an  impossible  sort  of  girl  she  is.  She 
even  took  some  sort  of  honor  in  mathematics  at 
Oxford — just  fancy !  What  she  is  going  to  be 
like  in  a  ball-room  no  mortal  can  guess  !  So  we 
have  done  the  best  we  can — mamma  has  invited 
some  old  fogies  to  entertain  her,  and  I  propose 
we  make  our  end  of  the  table  as  much  of  a  shin- 
ing contrast  as  possible.  I  shall  ask  that  Cana- 
dian you  adore  so — Reggie  Montrose— for  you, 
and  your  brother  Jerry  for  Margaret,  and  shall 
reserve  Wayne  Claghart  for  myself ;  so  please 
take  warning  and  let  that  youth  severely  alone. 
He  is  my  especial  property,  and  I  consider  him 
simply  the  nicest  man  I  know.  He  has  hinted 
two  or  three  times  that  he  would  like  to  sketch 
my  head.  He  needn't  be  afraid  of  my  refusing, 
if  he'd  only  ask  me  outright !  I  shall  tell  Helen, 
of  course,  that  I  asked  him  because  he  has  lately 
returned  from  England,  and  she  has  just  re- 
turned, etc.,  etc.,  but  I'm  afraid  he'll  be  so  far 
away  from  her  and  she'll  be  so  busy  talking  the 
ologies  with  Professor  Radnor  (forgot  to  tell 
you  mamma  has  asked  him ! ),  and  the  East  End 
with  Percy  Beaufort,  that  I  don't  think  she'll 
have  a  chance  to  stun  him  with  her  learning. 

53 


"La  Belle  Hellne" 


Besides,  I  don't  think  he  is  the  man  to  devote 
much  time  to  that  sort  of  a  girl. 

Now,  don't  disappoint  me !  I  count  on  you. 
Later  there  will  be  a  lot  of  people  in — the  usual 
crowd,  you  know — and  if  you'll  say  positively 
you'll  come,  we  will  make  it  a  small  cotillon  and 
you  shall  lead  with  Reggie. 

I'll  let  Margaret  write  to  Jerry — they  are  such 
chums,  but  you  be  sure  and  make  him  come. 
Don't,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let  him  know  about 
Helen's  homeliness  and  flabbergastering  attain- 
ments, or  he  won't  stir  a  foot. 

Good-by.  Expect  you  down  Wednesday. 
Telegraph  me  you  will  come. 

As  ever, 

ELEANOR. 

Miss  Eleanor  Morrison  to  Reginald  Montrose, 
Esq.,  Murray  Hill  Hotel,  New  York  City. 

November  19th. 

DEAB  MB.  MONTEOSE  :  Thank  you  so  much  for 
that  lovely  philopena  present.  How  charming 
of  you  to  have  thought  of  that !  Won't  you 
take  dinner  with  us  next  Thursday,  at  half  after 
eight,  and  let  me  thank  you  in  person  ?  After 
dinner  you  may  dance  the  cotillon  with  Miss 
Fairfax.  There !  is  not  that  an  inducement  ?  I 

54 


La  Belle  Hellne  " 


have  a  cousin  whom  I  want  you  to  meet,  too — 
she  is  just  returning  to  America  and  is   very 
learned,  and  not  quite  your  style,  I  fear,  but  she 
will  doubtless  be  good  for  you  after  me  ! 
Most  cordially  yours, 

ELEANOR  MORRISON. 

Miss  Eleanor  Morrison  to  Wayne  Claghart,  Esq., 
Tiventy-tliird  Street,  New  York  City. 

SATURDAY,  November  19th. 

DEAR  MR.  CLAGHART  :  Do  you  remember  your 
promise  to  run  down  to  Baltimore  ?  Well,  I 
shall  expect  you  to  keep  it  next  Thursday.  We 
are  to  have  a  little  dinner  and  a  dance  afterward 
(perhaps  I  should  say  a  dinner  and  a  little 
dance — no,  the  adjective  belongs  to  both),  and  I 
shall  certainly  expect  you  to  be  on  hand.  Your 
fame  has  preceded  you,  of  course,  and  a  great 
many  very  nice  young  women  are  simply  existing 
on  the  thought  of  meeting  Mr.  Wayne  Claghart, 
the  artist !  Shall  I  reserve  the  very  prettiest  and 
nicest  of  them  all  to  dance  the  cotillon  with 
you? 

Hoping  to  see  you  without  fail, 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

ELEANOR  MORRISON. 


55 


"La  Belle  Htllne" 


Miss  Margaret  Morrison  to  Mr.  Jere  Fairfax, 
Washington,  D.  C. 

November  19th. 

DEAB  r JEREY  :  Eleanor  has  a  dinner  on  for 
next  Thursday,  and  we  want  you  to  throw  over 
all  your  numerous  engagements  for  that  evening 
and  come  to  us.  Do,  Jerry — and  favor  me  a  lot 
— I  forgot  to  say  there  was  a  german  afterward 
— and  be  generally  nice  to  your  debutante,  Mar- 
got.  As  an  inducement  I  will  say  that  we've 
got  a  jolly  surprise  for  you.  Eleanor  don't 
want  me  to  tell,  but  I'm  going  to.  Our  cousin, 
Helen  Hammersley,  is  coming  to  spend  the  win- 
ter with  us — it's  for  her  the  dinner  is  being 
given — and  mamma  and  Eleanor  are  in  despair 
about  her.  I  don't  believe  she's  half  bad,  but 
they  say  she's  awfully  ugly,  and  too  smart  to  be 
nice.  I  suppose  she  is  awfully  erudite — is  that 
the  word  ?  "Wears  specs,  and  dresses  like  every- 
thing, I  suppose.  "Wonder  if  she  ever  danced 
the  german — she  can  have  a  sprained  ankle  if 
she  don't  know  how. 

As  ever, 

MARGARET. 


56 


La  Belle  Heltne  " 


Telegram — Miss  Grace  Fairfax  to  Miss  Eleanor 
Morrison,  Baltimore. 

WASHINGTON,  November  20th. 
Delighted  to  come.      Charmed  to  lead  with 
K.     Have  two  new  figures.     Order  little  French 
flags  for  one  set  favors. 

GRACE. 

Telegram — Miss  Grace  Fairfax  to  Miss  Eleanor 
Morrison. 

WASHINGTON,  November  22d. 

Terrible  attack  tonsillitis.  Doctor  says  pos- 
itively cannot*  go. 

GRACE. 

Miss  Eleanor  Morrison  to  Miss  Marie  de  Roclie- 
mont,  Charles  Street. 

MY  DEAR  Miss  DE  BOCHEMONT  :  Much  to  my 
surprise  and  annoyance  I  have  this  moment 
found  an  invitation  which  I  thought  had  been 
mailed  to  you  several  days  ago.  It  must  have 
slipped  out  of  the  other  notes  some  way  and 
has  been  lying  under  some  papers  here  on  my 
desk  ever  since.  Can  you  forgive  this  mischance 
and  accept  so  tardy  an  invitation  ?  It  will  give 

57 


La  Belle  Helene  " 


us  all  the  greatest  pleasure  to  see  you  at  half 
after  eight.  I  especially  want  to  introduce  to 
you  a  cousin  of  mine  just  returned  from  the 
other  side.  She  has  been  in  college  all  her  life, 
and  I  want  her  to  meet  some  of  our  most  charm- 
ing society  girls  to  rub  her  shyness  off  and  make 
her  take  more  interest  in  social  life.  Perhaps 
you  may  convert  her !  Hoping  that  no  previous 
engagement  will  prevent  our  seeing  you  Thurs- 
day, 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

ELEANOR  MORRISON. 


Mrs.  Olmsted  Morrison  to  Mrs.  Franklin  Ben- 
nett, care  of  Brown,  Shipley  &  Co.,  London. 

November  25th. 

MY  DEAR  ALMA:  What  a  surprise!  I  can 
scarcely  collect  my  thoughts  sufficiently  to  write 
intelligently  on  the  subject.  I  really  was  never 
more  surprised  in  all  my  life — more  intensely 
and  thoroughly  surprised.  But  I  must  try  and 
tell  you  connectedly  all  about  it.  To  begin 
with — Helen  did  not  come  on  the  twentieth  as 
we  had  expected,  but  telegraphed  us  that  she 
was  detained  in  Boston  and  would  not  reach 
Baltimore  until  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
fourth.  This  was  very  annoying,  as  I  was  most 

58 


La  Belle  Helene" 


anxious  about  her  gown  for  the  dinner,  and  then 
I  imagined  that  she  would  be  utterly  dragged 
out  after  travelling  all  night.  Dear  Eleanor 
would  have  been,  I  am  quite  sure.  But  Helen 
seems  to  be  one  of  those  distressingly  healthy 
people — no  nerves,  no  sensitiveness.  She  quite 
laughed  when  I  asked  her  if  she  were  not  tired  ! 

Well — she  came  on  the  eleven-five  train,  and, 
Alma,  she  is  not  at  all  the  kind  of  person  I  had 
expected.  She  is  even  handsome  after  a  certain 
style  of  her  own — not  one  that  I  admire — not 
at  all  Eleanor's  style.  But  certainly  it  could  be 
much  worse.  The  men  even  seemed  to  find  her 
quite  good-looking.  She  has  certainly  pre- 
served her  complexion  wonderfully  well — and  as 
for  her  being  short-sighted !  Between  ourselves 
I  am  sure  it  is  only  an  excuse  for  using  a  very 
beautiful  lorgnon,  and  for  looking  rather  intently 
at  one  in  a  sort  of  meditative  way  which  I  con- 
sider rather  offensive,  but  which  Percy  Beaufort 
told  me  he  found  most  attractive.  He  is  very 
disappointing,  by  the  way ;  I  had  expected  so 
much  of  him,  but  I  find  him  quite  an  ordinaiy 
young  man. 

I  was  really  shocked  at  Helen's  levity.  I  had 
expected  from  her  superior  education  that  her 
mind  would  be  above  trivialities,  but  the  way 
she  laughed  and  seemed  to  enjoy  the  conversa- 

59 


La  Belle  mime  n 


tion  of  Reggie  Montrose  and  Jerry  Fairfax !  and 
if  she  had  confined  her  attentions  to  those  boys  ! 
But,  Alma,  she  even  tried  to  infatuate  Colonel 
Gray  and  Professor  Radnor !  Two  such  men ! 
She  is  far  from  being  the  quiet,  thoughtful  stu- 
dent I  had  expected  to  so  enjoy.  Why,  she  had 
the  audacity  to  say  to  Colonel  Gray,  after  one  of 
his  irascible  explosions  at  things  in  general — 
"  My  dear  Colonel,  you  are  a  living  example  of 
squaring  the  circle — quite  round  yet  full  of 
angles  !  "  You  know  how  rotund  the  Colonel  is, 
Alma.  Think  of  it !  To  Colonel  Gray,  whoso 
irritability  is  simply  proverbial.  And  he  actu- 
ally seemed  to  enjoy  it !  Men  of  a  certain  ago 
seem  to  be  only  too  willing  to  make  fools  of 
themselves  if  a  young  girl  looks  at  them.  And 
Percival  Beaufort,  who  is  so  interested  in  Lon- 
don charities,  could  not  extract  one  word  from 
her  on  the  subject,  I  believe ;  at  any  rate  I  dis- 
tinctly heard  her  giving  him  an  animated  ac- 
count of  the  last  "  Eights  Week,"  and  he  was  in- 
quiring solicitously  who  was  the  coxswain  for 
Magdalen !  Even  Professor  Radnor  seemed  to 
lose  his  head,  though  I  believe  she  talked  more 
sensibly  to  him  than  to  the  others,  for  he  told 
me  that  she  was  one  of  the  few  women  he  had 
ever  met  who  seemed  to  thoroughly  understand 
Abel's  demonstration  of  the  impossibility  of  solv- 

60 


La  Belle  Htltne  " 


ing  a  quintic  equation  by  means  of  radicals — • 
whatever  that  means. 

By  the  way,  we  need  not  have  worried  about 
her  gown  at  all.  It  was  quite  presentable,  and 
had  in  it  a  quantity  of  rare  old  point  d'Alengon 
which  Helen  says  Henry  picked  up  in  Paris. 
It  quite  vexed  me  to  think  that  I  have  none  of 
that  pattern — it  is  especially  beautiful. 

Eleanor  would  add  a  word,  but  she  is  feeling 
quite  ill  this  morning,  dear  child  !  She  was  so 
worried  over  the  dinner.  At  the  very  last  mo- 
ment Grace  Fairfax  failed  her,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  invite  Marie  de  Rochemont  in  her 
place.  "We  were  especially  sorry  that  Grace 
could  not  come,  and  that  Jerry  did.  He  is  get- 
ting completely  spoiled ;  his  assurance  and  in- 
considerateness  are  truly  wonderful. 

By  the  way,  we  have  changed  our  plans  for 
the  winter  slightly.  We  are  going  to  the  Ber- 
mudas for  a  month,  and  Helen  will  visit  friends 
in  Boston  for  the  rest  of  the  winter.  Write  soon 
and  let  me  know  how  Mr.  Bennett  is  feeling. 
Address  here,  all  our  mail  will  be  forwarded. 
As  ever,  your  devoted  friend, 

MARIAN  MOBEISON. 


61 


"La  Belle  Helene" 


Mr.  Jere  Fairfax  to  Miss  Grace  Fairfax,  Wash" 
ington,  D.  C. 

BALTIMORE,  November  25th. 
DEAR  GRACE  :  I  suppose  I've  got  to  keep  my 
solemn  promise  to  write  to  you  all  about  the 
blow-out,  though  it's  an  awful  effort  for  me  to 
write  letters,  and  I'm  so  razzle-dazzled  too ! 
You  simply  weren't  in  it !  She's  stunning  !  The 
fellows  all  call  her  "  La  Belle  Helene."  Claghart 
started  the  name  and  it  took  like  wildfire.  The 
fair  Eleanor  is  furious.  She  looked  perfectly 
insignificant  by  the  side  of  that  magnificent 
creature.  What  the  dickens  did  Margaret  mean 
by  her  letter?  Why,  Helen  Hammersley  is  a 
perfect  beauty.  It  isn't  good  to  spring  a  sur- 
prise like  that  on  a  fellow.  Bad  for  one's  nerves. 
Claghart  is  terribly  shaken.  Found  out  she  had 
met  ever  so  many  celebrated  artists,  English 
and  French,  and  they  jawed  for  hours.  Fact  is 
Claghart's  got  the  cinch  on  the  rest  of  us  because 
she's  so  awfully  interested  in  art — I  heard  her 
tell  him  so.  Oh  !  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you 
the  joke !  You  see,  Mrs.  Morrison  had  put  her 
up  at  her  end  of  the  table,  with  the  rector  of  All 
Souls  on  one  side  of  her — the  old  duffer ! — and 
that  fossil,  Professor  Radnor,  on  the  other,  and 
of  all  people  in  the  world  that  ante-bellum 

62 


La  Belle  HHene  " 


specimen,  Colonel  Ralph  Gray,  opposite !  Think 
of  that,  with  Montrose  and  Claghart  and  myself 
at  the  other  end,  cut  off  from  her  by  half  a  dozen 
married  people!  Think  of  the  injustice,  the 
tactlessness  of  such  a  proceeding  !  Well,  I  sim- 
ply determined  to  shake  things  up  a  bit,  so  after 
the  bird  I  said,  as  sweetly  as  only  yours  truly 
can  say,  "  Mrs.  Morrison,  I  was  at  the  Dwights' 
the  other  evening  to  a  progressive  dinner-party. 
Charming  idea,  don't  you  think  ?  "  I  knew  all 
the  men  would  back  me  up,  and  sure  enough 
Reggie  Montrose  sang  out,  "  Yes,  indeed,  Mrs. 
Morrison !  "Why  not  try  it  to-night  ?  "  and  be- 
fore the  words  were  fairly  out  of  his  mouth, 
Claghart  had  jumped  up  with  his  wine-glass  and 
his  napkin  in  his  hand,  and  was  moving  up  one 
seat  nearer  "  La  Belle  Helene."  Of  course  there 
was  an  awful  muss  and  Eleanor  was  furious,  I 
could  see,  but  she  pulled  herself  together  and 
smiled  awfully  sweetly  at  Claghart.  Marie  de 
Rochemont  turned  perfectly  green — give  you 
my  word  of  honor.  Margaret  was  the  only  one 
who  seemed  really  not  to  mind.  She's  a  nice 
little  thing,  but  she  won't  have  much  show  in 
society  if  Helen  Hammersley  is  around. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  about  "La  Belle 
Helene,"  but  I'm  not  much  for  descriptions. 
She's  different  from  any  girl  I  ever  knew — not 

63 


La  Belle  Heltne" 


very  tall,  but  awfully  good  figure — fixes  her  hair 
like  those  stunning  girls  of  Gibson's  you  know, 
and  she's  got  a  way  of  looking  at  a  fellow — ear- 
nest and  yet  half  laughing — that's  enough  to 
drive  one  out  of  one's  senses.  She's  got  thatj'e 
ne  sais  quoi,  you  know — something  awfully  fetch- 
ing and  magnetic  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
(You'll  think  me  a  drivelling  idiot !)  She  wore 
a  beauty  of  a  gown,  white  satin — or  gauze,  I'm 
not  sure  which.  Was  going  to  ask  Claghart — 
being  an  artist  he's  up  to  such  fine  distinctions 
— but  forgot  it.  I  say,  Grace,  why  don't  your 
gowns  look  like  that  ?  You'd  better  ask  her  who 
built  hers.  Tell  you  what,  she's  just  fascinating 
— not  stiff  or  uppish  a  bit,  but  she's  got  a  certain 
sort  of  dignity  you  girls  don't  seem  to  acquire, 
some  way  or  other. 

She  simply  hoodooed  old  Gray,  not  to  mention 
Percy  Beaufort,  the  Professor,  and  several  dozen 
others,  including  your  devoted  brother.  There 
was  one  solemn  moment  at  the  cotillion  when 
every  man  in  the  room  was  around  her.  The 
other  girls  looked  black,  I  promise  you  !  What 
the  deuce,  Grace,  makes  you  girls  so  jealous  ?  I 
actually  believe  Eleanor  didn't  like  her  cousin's 
brilliant  success  at  all,  and  yet  you  told  me  she 
was  so  anxious  about  it.  Can't  make  you  girls 
out. 

64 


La  Belle  Hetene" 


You  say  she's  been  to  college  all  her  life  and 
is  awfully  smart  ?  Well,  I  suppose  she  is — she 
looks  that  way — but  she  didn't  come  any  of  it  on 
us.  And  yet  she's  clever,  that's  sure,  for  she 
knows  all  the  points  of  difference  between  the 
Rugby  and  Association  game,  and  I  heard  her 
talking  golf  with  Claghart  and  telling  Professor 
Radnor  that  dancing  was  a  healthful  amusement, 
and  he  was  asking  her,  in  the  most  idiotic  way, 
if  she'd  teach  him  the  two-step.  Wasn't  that 
rich !  And  old  Gray  said  to  a  lot  of  fellows  in 
the  smoking-room  that,  "  By  Jove,  she  was  the 
handsomest  girl  he'd  seen  in  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, and  that  if  she  was  an  example  of  a  college- 
bred  girl  he  wished  they'd  all  go  to  college." 

Well,  I  must  stop.  I  really  believe,  Grace, 
this  is  the  longest  letter  I  ever  wrote,  and  I  want 
you  to  put  it  to  my  credit — understand  ?  and  the 
next  time  I  try  to  arrange  a  trip  to  Mount  Ver- 
non  with  certain  people,  you'll  please  be  more 
amenable  to  reason — See  ? 

I  think  I've  told  you  everything  except  that 
I'm  going  to  stop  here  for  a  few  days — they're 
always  asking  me,  you  know,  and  I  told  Margaret 
last  night  that  I'd  accept  this  time.  Eleanor 
looked  as  if  she  didn't  half  like  it.  Why  not,  do 
you  suppose  ?  But  I  can't  tear  myself  away. 
I'm  desperately  in  love  with  "  La  Belle  Helene," 

65 


La  Belle  Htftne" 


besides  I'm  awfully  interested  in  watching  the 
running  between  Claghart  and  Montrose.  It  will 
be  a  close  finish,  I  think,  with  Claghart  in  the 
lead,  Montrose  a  good  second,  and  a  full  field 
not  far  behind.  Excuse  sporting  instincts  and 
language. 

As  ever,  your  aff.  brother, 

JERRY. 

How's  your  throat  ?  Better,  I  hope.  Hers  is 
lovely — "  like  a  piece  of  marble  column  " — at  least 
that's  what  Reggie  confided  to  me  at  3  G.  M. 
this  morning.  J.  F. 


AS  TOLD  BY   HER 


AS  TOLD  BY  HER 

waiters  had  served  the  coffee  and  were 
1  retiring  in  long  rows  down  the  sides  of  the 
big  dining-hall.  The  rattle  of  knives  and  forks 
and  the  noise  of  general  and  animated  talk  were 
subsiding,  and  the  pleased,  expectant  hush  which 
always  precedes  the  toasts,  was  falling  upon 
the  assembly.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  room, 
farthest  from  the  "  distinguished-guest "  table, 
the  unimportant  people  began  to  turn  their  chairs 
around  toward  the  speakers  and  to  say  "  'Sh !  " 
and  "  Who's  that  ?  "  to  each  other  in  subdued 
whispers,  and  the  seniors  grasped  their  sheep- 
skins less  nervously  and  began  to  realize  their 
importance  and  the  fact  that  they  were  no 
longer  undergraduates  but  full-fledged  alumnae. 
And  with  the  realization  came  a  curious  dis- 
agreeable sensation  and  a  queer  tightening  in 
the  throat,  accompanied  by  a  horrible  inclina- 
tion to  shed  tears  over  the  closed  chapter  of 
their  lives.  Then  they  fiercely  thought  how 
their  brothers  act  under  similar  circumstances, 
and  wished  they  were  men  and  could  give  the 

69 


As  Told  by  Her 


class  yell  and  drink  champagne  to  stifle  their 
feelings.  That  being  impossible  they  tasted  a 
very  mild  decoction  of  coffee  and  turned  their 
troubled  eyes  to  the  far  end  of  the  room,  and 
wished  ardently  that  the  President  would  get  on 
her  feet  and  say  something  funny  to  make  them 
forget  that  this  was  the  end,  the  last  act  of 
politeness  on  the  part  of  the  faculty  to  them, 
that  they  were  being  gracefully  evicted,  as  it 
were,  and  could  never  be  taken  back  upon  the 
same  terms  or  under  the  same  conditions. 

It  was  the  annual  Commencement  dinner  to 
the  retiring  senior  class,  and  the  senior  class 
was,  as  usual,  feeling  collapsed  and  blank  after 
the  excitement  of  Commencement  week  and  the 
discovery  that  they  were  B.A.'s  or  B.S.'s,  and 
that  the  world  was  before  them  and  there  would 
be  no  more  faculties  to  set  them  going  or  haul 
them  up,  but  that  they  would  have  to  depend 
on  their  own  faculties  in  the  future.  There  was 
the  annual  foregathering  of  brilliant  men  and 
women  whose  presence  was  to  be  an  incentive 
to  the  newly  fledged  alumnae,  and  the  display  of 
whose  wit  and  wisdom  in  after-dinner  speeches 
was  to  be  a  last  forcible  impression  of  intellect- 
ual vigor  and  acquirements  left  on  their  minds. 

Suddenly  the  President  arose.  She  stood 
there,  graceful,  perfectly  at  ease,  waiting  for  a 


As  Told  by  Her 

moment  of  entire  silence.  Her  sensitive,  blood- 
less face  looked  more  animated  than  usual,  her 
brown  eyes  quietly  humorous.  It  was  a  face 
eminently  characteristic — indicative  of  the  ele- 
ment of  popularity  and  adaptability  in  her  nat- 
ure that  made  her,  just  then,  so  valuable  to  the 
college.  When  she  spoke  her  voice  carried  a 
surprising  distance,  notwithstanding  its  veiled, 
soft  quality,  so  that  those  farthest  from  her  were 
able  to  catch  and  enjoy  the  witty,  gnomic,  sar- 
castic manner  of  her  speech. 

What  she  said  was  taken  down  by  the  short- 
hand reporter  smuggled  in  for  the  occasion  by 
the  enterprising  class-president  and  is  enrolled 
in  the  class-book,  so  it  need  not  be  recorded 
here  ;  but  when  she  had  finished,  the  editor  of 
one  of  the  foremost  magazines  in  the  country 
was  smiling  and  nodding  his  head  appreciatively, 
and  a  man  whose  sermons  are  listened  to  by 
thousands  every  Lord's  Day  leaned  over  and 
made  some  quick  side  remark  to  her  and  ran  his 
hands  in  a  pleased,  interested  way  through  his 
long  hair ;  and  the  young  and  already  famous 
President  of  a  certain  college  said,  on  rising, 
that  he  felt  very  genuine  trepidation  at  attempt- 
ing any  remarks  after  that.  He  fully  sustained 
his  reputation,  however,  of  a  brilliant  talker, 
and  was  followed  by  the  honorary  member  of 


As  Told  by  Her 

the  juniors,  whose  post-prandial  speeches  have 
made  him  famous  on  both  sides  of  the  water. 

The  room  became  absolutely  quiet,  save  for 
the  voice  of  the  speaker,  the  occasional  burst  of 
applause,  and  the  appreciative  murmur  of  the 
listeners.  Outside,  the  afternoon  began  to  grow 
mellow,  long  shadows  thrown  by  the  pointed 
turrets  of  the  building  lay  across  the  green  cam- 
pus, the  ivy  at  the  big  windows  waved  to  and 
fro  slightly  in  the  cool  breeze.  Attention 
flagged ;  people  began  to  tire  of  the  clever,  witty 
responses  to  the  toasts  and  to  look  about  them 
a  little. 

At  one  of  the  tables  reserved  for  the  alumnae, 
near  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  sat  a  girl 
dressed  in  deep  mourning.  Her  face  was  very 
beautiful  and  intelligent,  with  the  intelligence 
that  is  more  the  result  of  experience  than  of  un- 
usual mental  ability.  There  were  delicate,  fine 
lines  about  the  mouth  and  eyes.  She  could  not 
have  been  more  than  twenty-four  or  five,  but 
there  was  an  air  of  firmness  and  decision  about 
her  which  contradicted  her  blond  —  almost 
frivolous — beauty  and  lent  dignity  to  the  deli- 
cate figure. 

After  awhile  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  a 
trifle  wearily  and  looked  about  her  curiously  as 
if  for  changes.  The  general  aspect  of  the  place 

73 


As  Told  by  Her 


remained  the  same,  she  decided,  but  there  were 
a  great  many  new  faces — new  faces  in  the  fac- 
ulty, too,  where  one  least  likes  to  find  them. 
Here  and  there  she  saw  an  old  acquaintance 
and  smiled  perfunctorily,  but,  on  the  whole, 
there  was  no  one  present  she  cared  very  much 
to  see.  She  had  just  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  was  sorry  she  had  made  the  long  jour- 
ney to  be  present  at  the  dinner  when  she  be- 
came conscious  that  someone  was  looking  in- 
tently at  her  across  the  room.  She  leaned 
forward  eagerly  and  smiled  naturally  and  cor- 
dially for  the  first  time.  And  then  she  sank 
bank  suddenly  and  blushed  like  a  school-girl 
and  smiled  again,  but  in  a  different  way,  as  if  at 
herself,  or  at  some  thought  that  tickled  her 
fancy.  It  certainly  did  strike  her  as  rather 
amusing  and  presuming  for  her  to  be  smiling 
and  bowing  so  cordially  to  Professor  Arbuthnot. 
She  remembered  very  distinctly,  in  what  awe 
she  had  stood  of  that  learned  lady,  and  that  in 
her  undergraduate  days  she  had  systematically 
avoided  her,  since  she  could  not  avoid  her  ex- 
aminations and  their  occasionally  disastrous 
consequences.  She  recalled  very  forcibly  the 
masterly  lectures,  the  logical,  profound,  often 
original  talks,  which  she  had  heard  in  her  lect- 
ure-room, though  she  had  to  acknowledge  to 

73 


As  Told  by  Her 

herself  reproachfully,  that  the  matter  of  them 
had  entirely  escaped  her  memory.  She  had 
been  one  of  a  big  majority  who  had  always  con- 
sidered Professor  Arbuthnot  as  a  very  high  type 
— perhaps  the  highest  type  the  college  afford- 
ed— of  a  woman  whose  brains  and  attainments 
would  make  her  remarkable  in  any  assembly  of 
savants.  In  her  presence  she  had  always  real- 
ized very  keenly  her  own  superficiality,  and  she 
felt  very  much  nattered  that  such  a  woman 
should  have  remembered  her  and  not  a  little 
abashed  as  she  thought  of  the  entire  renuncia- 
tion of  study  she  had  made  since  leaving  college. 
She  wondered  what  Professor  Arbuthnot  might 
be  thinking  about  her — she  knew  she  was  think- 
ing about  her,  because  the  bright  eyes  opposite 
were  still  fixed  upon  her  with  their  piercing,  not 
unkindly  gaze.  It  occurred  to  her  at  last,  hu- 
morously, that  perhaps  the  Professor  was  not 
considering  her  at  all,  but  some  question  in — 
thermo-electric  currents  for  instance. 

But  Miss  Arbuthnot's  mind  was  not  on  ther- 
mo-electric currents ;  she  was  saying  to  herself  : 
"  She  is  much  more  beautiful  than  when  she 
was  here,  and  there  is  a  new  element  of  beauty 
in  her  face,  too.  I  wonder  where  she  has  been 
since,  and  why  she  is  in  mourning.  She  was 
unintelligent,  I  remember.  It's  a  great  pity — 


As  Told  by  Her 

brains  and  that  sort  of  beauty  rarely  ever  go  to- 
gether. Her  name  was  Ellis — yes — Grace  Ellis. 
I  think  I  must  see  her  later."  And  the  Profess- 
or gave  her  another  piercing  smile  and  settled 
herself  to  listen  to  a  distinguished  political 
economist — a  great  friend  of  hers — speak. 

The  Political  Economist  got  upon  his  feet 
slowly  and  with  a  certain  diffidence.  He  was  a 
man  who  had  made  his  way,  self-taught,  from 
poverty  and  ignorance  to  a  professorship  in  one 
of  the  finest  technical  schools  of  America. 

There  was  a  brusqueness  in  his  manner,  and 
the  hard  experiences  of  his  life  had  made  him 
old.  He  spoke  in  a  quiet,  authoritative  way. 
He  declared,  with  a  rather  heavy  attempt  at 
jocoseness,  that  his  hearers  had  had  their  sweets 
first,  so  to  speak,  and  that  they  must  now  go 
back  and  take  a  little  solid,  unpalpable  nourish- 
ment ;  that  he  had  never  made  a  witty  or  amus- 
ing remark  in  his  life,  and  he  did  not  propose  to 
begin  and  try  then,  and  finally  he  hinted  that 
the  President  had  made  a  very  bad  selection 
when  she  invited  him  to  respond  to  the  toast — 
"The  Modern  Education  of  Woman."  As  he 
warmed  to  his  subject  he  became  more  gracious 
and  easy  in  manner.  He  spoke  at  length  of  the 
evolution  of  women's  colleges,  their  methods, 
their  advantages,  their  limitations ;  he  touched 

75 


As  Told  by  Her 


upon  the  salient  points  of  difference  between  a 
man's  college  life  and  that  of  a  girl ;  differences 
of  character,  of  interests,  of  methods  of  work. 
And  then  he  went  on  : 

"  I  believe  in  it — I  believe  firmly  in  the  mod- 
ern education  of  woman.  It  is  one  of  the  things 
of  most  vital  interest  to  me  ;  but  my  enthusiasm 
does  not  blind  me.  There  are  phases  of  it  which 
I  do  not  indorse.  I  object  to  many  of  its  re- 
sults. The  most  obvious  bad  result  is  the  exag- 
gerated importance  which  the  very  phrase  has 
assumed."  He  smiled  plaintively  around  upon 
the  company.  "  Are  we  to  have  nothing  but 
woman's  education  —  toujours  T  education  de  la 
femme  ?  There  is  such  eagerness  to  get  to  col- 
lege, such  blind  belief  in  what  is  to  be  learned 
there,  such  a  demand  for  a  college  education  for 
women,  that  we  are  overwhelmed  by  it.  Every 
year  these  doors  are  closed  upon  hundreds  of 
disappointed  women,  who  turn  elsewhere,  or  re- 
linquish the  much -prized  college  education. 
The  day  is  not  far  distant  when  it  will  be  a  dis- 
tinct reproach  to  a  woman  that  she  is  not  col- 
lege-bred." He  looked  down  thoughtfully  and 
intently  and  spoke  more  slowly. 

"  It  is  this  phase  of  it  which  sometimes  troubles 
me.  Life  is  so  rich  in  experience  for  woman — 
so  much  richer  and  fuller  for  woman  than  for 

76 


THE   POLITICAL   ECONOMIST 


As  Told  by  Her 

man — that  I  tremble  at  this  violent  reaction 
from  nature  to  art.  To-day  woman  seems  to 
forget  that  she  must  learn  to  live,  not  live  to 
learn.  At  the  risk  of  being  branded  as  '  behind 
the  times,'  of  being  considered  narrow,  bigoted, 
old-fashioned,  I  must  say  that  until  woman 
re-discovers  that  life  is  everything,  that  all  she 
can  learn  here  in  a  hundred  times  the  four  years 
of  her  college  course  is  but  the  least  part  of 
what  life  and  nature  can  teach  her,  until  then  I 
shall  not  be  wholly  satisfied  with  the  modern 
education  of  woman." 

When  he  ceased  there  was  an  awkward  and 
significant  silence,  and  the  editor  looked  over  at 
him  and  smiled  and  shook  his  head  reprovingly. 
And  then  the  President  got  up  quickly  and 
with  a  few  graceful,  apropos  remarks  restored 
good-humor,  and  taking  the  arm  of  the  distin- 
guished divine,  led  the  way  from  the  dining- 
hall  to  the  reception-rooms,  and  people  jostled 
each  other  good-naturedly,  and  edged  them- 
selves between  chairs  and  tables  to  speak  to 
acquaintances,  and  there  was  much  laughter 
and  questioning  and  exclamations  of  surprise 
and  delight,  until  finally  the  long  procession 
got  itself  outside  the  dining-hall  into  the  big 
corridors. 

At  the  door  Professor  Arbuthnot  caught  sight 

77 


As  Told  by  Her 

of  Miss  Ellis  again.  She  beckoned  to  the  girl, 
who  came  quickly  toward  her. 

"  I  am  tired  and  am  going  to  my  rooms  for 
awhile,  will  you  come  ?  "  The  girl  blushed  again 
with  pleasure  and  some  embarrassment. 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  she  said  simply, 
and  together  they  walked  down  the  broad  hall- 
way. 

"It's  very  good  of  you,"  she  broke  in  ner- 
vously, looking  down  at  the  small,  quiet  figure 
beside  hers — she  was  head  and  shoulders  taller 
than  the  Professor. 

"  Not  at  all,"  declared  Miss  Arbuthnot,  kindly. 
"  I  want  to  see  you — it  has  been  a  long  while 
since  you  were  a  student  here — four  or  five  years 
I  should  say — and  you  recall  other  faces  and 
times." 

"  It  has  been  four  years — I  can  hardly  believe 
it,"  said  the  girl,  softly.  She  wondered  vaguely 
what  on  earth  Miss  Arbuthnot  could  wish  to  see 
her  for — she  had  been  anything  but  a  favorite 
with  the  faculty  as  a  student,  but  she  felt  very 
much  flattered  and  very  nervous  at  the  attention 
bestowed  upon  her. 

When  she  reached  Professor  Arbuthnot's 
rooms,  the  embarrassment  she  had  felt  at  being 
noticed  by  so  distinguished  a  member  of  the 
faculty  visibly  increased. 

78 


IT    HAS   BEEN   A    LONG    WHILE    SINCE    YOU   WERE   A   STUDENT   HERE 


As  Told  by  Her 


The  place  was  typical  —  the  absence  of  all 
ornament  and  feminine  bric-a-brac  —  the  long 
rows  of  book-shelves  filled  with  the  most  ad- 
vanced works  on  natural  sciences,  the  tables 
piled  up  with  brochures  and  scientific  magazines, 
enveloped  her  in  an  atmosphere  of  profound 
learning  quite  oppressive.  She  had  never  been 
in  the  room  but  once  before,  and  that  was  on  a 
most  inauspicious  occasion — just  after  the  mid- 
year's. She  wondered  uneasily,  and  yet  with 
some  amusement,  if  Professor  Arbuthnot  remem- 
bered the  circumstance.  But  that  lady  was  not 
thinking  of  the  young  girl.  She  was  busy  with 
her  mail,  which  had  just  been  brought  in,  open- 
ing and  folding  up  letter  after  letter  in  a  quick, 
methodical  way. 

"  More  work  for  me,"  she  said,  smiling ;  "  here 
is  an  invitation  to  deliver  six  lectures  on  electro- 
optics."  The  girl  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"  Absolutely  I've  forgotten  the  very  meaning 
of  the  words  ;  and  as  for  lecturing !  "  she  broke 
off  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Are  you  going  to  give 
them?" 

"  Yes  :  it  makes  a  great  deal  of  work  for  me, 
but  I  never  refuse  such  invitations.  Besides 
I  shall  be  able  to  take  these  lectures  almost 
bodily  from  a  little  book  I  am  getting  out." 
Professor  Arbuthnot  went  over  to  the  desk  and 
19 


lifted  up  a  pile  of  manuscript,  and  smiled  indul- 
gently at  the  girl's  exclamation  of  awe. 

"  It  isn't  much,"  she  went  on.  "  Only  some 
experiments  I  have  been  making  in  the  optical 
effects  of  powerful  magnets.  They  turned  out 
very  prettily.  I  have  a  good  deal  of  hard  work 
to  do  on  the  book  yet.  I  shall  stay  here  a 
week  or  two  longer,  quite  alone,  and  finish  it 
all  up." 

The  girl  touched  the  papers  reverently. 

"Here  is  a  note  I  have  just  received  from 

Professor "  (Miss  Arbuthnot  named  one  of 

the  most  distinguished  authorities  of  the  day  on 
magnetism  and  electricity).  "  I  sent  him  some 
of  the  first  proof-sheets,  and  he  says  he's  de- 
lighted with  them.  We  are  great  friends." 

The  girl's  awe  and  admiration  increased  with 
every  movement.  She  looked  at  the  small,  slight 
woman  whose  intelligent,  ugly  face  had  an  almost 
child-like  simplicity  of  expression,  contrasting 
strangely  enough  with  the  wrinkled,  bloodless 
skin  and  piercing  eyes.  Her  hair,  which  was 
parted  and  brushed  severely  back,  was  thickly 
sprinkled  with  gray. 

She  gasped  a  little.  "  You  actually  know  him 
— know  Professor ?  " 

Miss  Arbuthnot  laughed.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said  ; 
"  we  often  work  together.  We  get  along  famously ; 

80 


As  Told  by  Her 


we  are  '  sympathetic '  in  our  work,  as  the  French 
say." 

The  girl  swept  her  a  mock  courtesy. 

"I  feel  too  nattered  for  anything  that  you 
deign  to  speak  to  me,"  she  said,  laughing  and 
bowing  low. 

Professor  Arbuthnot  looked  pleased ;  she  was 
far  above  conceit,  but  she  was  not  entirely  im- 
pervious to  such  fresh,  genuine  admiration.  She 
was  feeling  particularly  happy,  too,  over  the  re- 
sults of  her  experiments — particularly  interested 
in  her  work. 

"  If  you  are  so  impressed  by  that,"  she 
laughed,  "  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  something 
even  more  wonderful  still.  I  have  just  received 

an  honorary  degree  from College.  It  was 

quite  unexpected,  and  I  nmst  say  I  am  extremely 
pleased.  It  is  very  agreeable  to  know  that  one's 
work  is  appreciated  when  one  has  given  one's 
life  to  it." 

It  seemed  to  the  girl,  with  these  evidences  of 
success  appealing  to  her,  that  a  life  could  not 
be  more  nobly  spent  than  in  such  work.  She 
went  slowly  around  the  room  after  that,  look- 
ing at  a  great  many  interesting  things.  At 
books  with  priceless  autographs  on  their  title- 
pages,  and  photographs  of  famous  scientists, 
and  diagrams  of  electrical  apparatus,  and  edi- 

81 


As  Told  by  Her 

tions  in  pamphlet  form  of  articles  by  Professor 
Arbuthnot,  published  originally  in  scientific 
journals. 

The  girl  suddenly  felt  sick  and  ashamed  of 
herself.  It  struck  her  very  forcibly  just  how  lit- 
tle she  knew,  and  how  she  had  neglected  her  op- 
portunities. 

"  What  an  awful  ignoramus  I  am  !  "  she  burst 
out  at  length.  "  I  don't  know  what  these  mean ; 
I  have  only  the  vaguest  idea  what  these  men 
have  done.  How  different  you  are  !  Your  life 
has  had  a  high  aim  and  you  have  attained  it. 

While  I ! "  she  stopped  with  a  scornful 

gesture.  "  If  it  were  not  for  Julian  I  believe  I 
would  come  back  here  and  start  over ! " 

Miss  Arbuthnot  looked  at  her  critically.  She 
admired  the  girl's  beauty  tremendously — it  was 
her  one  weakness — this  love  of  beauty.  She 
never  looked  at  herself  in  a  mirror  oftener  than 
necessary. 

"  Ah !  Julian ;  who  is  Julian  ?  " 

The  girl  blushed  again — she  had  a  pretty  way 
of  flushing  quickly. 

"  Julian  ? — why  he's  my  husband.  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  that  I  married  my  cousin,  Julian  Ellis, 
as  soon  as  I  left  college." 

"  Really  !  "  Miss  Arbuthnot  came  over  and 
sat  down  on  the  divan  beside  the  girl.  "  You 

83 


look  so  young,"  she  said,  rather  wistfully.   "  And 
you  have  been  married  four  years  ?  " 

The  girl  nodded.  "  It  seems  much  longer," 
she  said.  "  I  have  had — a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  said  the  older  woman 
kindly.  But  the  girl  was  much  embarrassed  at 
the  idea  of  talking  of  her  own  little  affairs  to 
Professor  Arbuthnot. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  only  bore  you,"  she 
said,  hurriedly.  "  Your  interests — you  are  in- 
terested in  so  many " 

*  But  Miss  Arbuthnot  was  firm.  "  Let  me  hear," 
she  insisted. 

"I'm  sure  I  hardly  know  what  there  is  to  tell," 
the  girl  began  nervously.  "  My  father  was  much 
opposed  to  my  marrying  Julian.  He  did  not 
wish  me  to  leave  college  ;  and  he  did  not  believe 
in  cousins  marrying.  He  said  that  if  we  did  he 
would  disinherit  me — you  know  he  is  rich.  But 
Julian  and  I  were  in  love  with  each  other,  and 
so  of  course  we  got  married."  She  stopped  sud- 
denly and  drawing  off  her  glove  looked  at  her 
wedding-ring.  Professor  Arbuthnot  watched  her 
curiously.  The  girl's  simple  statement — "and 
of  course  we  got  married  "  struck  her  forcibly. 
She  wondered  what  it  would  feel  like  to  be 
swayed  by  an  emotion  so  powerful  that  a  father's 
commands  and  the  loss  of  a  fortune  would  have 

83 


As  Told  by  Her 


absolutely  no  influence  upon  it.  She  could  not 
remember  ever  having  felt  anything  like  that. 

"  Julian  was  awfully  poor  and  I  of  course  had 
nothing  more,  and  so  we  went  to  Texas — Julian 
had  an  opening  there,"  she  went  on.  "  It  was 
awfully  lonely — we  lived  ten  miles  from  the 
nearest  town — and  you  know  what  a  Texas  town 
is."  Miss  Arbuthnot  shook  her  head.  She  had 
never  been  west  of  Ohio. 

The  girl  gave  a  little  in-drawn  gasp.  "  Well, 
it's  worse  than  anything  you  can  conceive  of.  I 
think  one  has  to  live  in  one  of  them  and  then 
move  away  and  have  ten  miles  of  dead  level 
prairie  land  between  you  and  it  to  know  just  what 
loneliness  is.  But  we  were  so  happy,  so  happy 
at  first — until  Julian  was  taken  ill."  She  leaned 
back  against  the  couch  and  clasped  her  hands 
around  her  knees. 

"  It  was  awful — I  can't  tell  you,"  she  went  on 
in  a  broken  voice.  "  But  you  know  what  un- 
speakable agony  it  is  to  see  what  you  love  best 
on  earth  ill  and  suffering,  and  you  nearly  power- 
less to  do  a  thing.  And  how  I  loved  him !  I 
never  knew  until  then  what  he  was — how  much 
of  my  life  he  had  become.  You  must  know 
what  agony  I  went  through  ?  "  she  looked  inter- 
rogatively, beseechingly  at  the  woman  beside 
her. 

84 


As  Told  by  Her 

Miss  Arbuthnot  looked  away.  "  I  am  not  sure 
— I — I  was  never  in  love,"  she  said  uncertainly. 
A  curious  wave  of  jealousy  swept  over  her  that 
she  who  had  been  such  a  student,  whose  whole 
life  had  been  a  study,  should  have  somehow 
missed  experiences  that  this  girl  had  lived 
through  already.  The  girl  shook  her  head 
softly,  pityingly,  as  if  she  could  hardly  believe 
her. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,  and  that  night,"  she 
went  on,  closing  her  eyes  faintly.  "  I  thought  he 
was  dying.  I  had  to  have  a  doctor,  but  I  was 
afraid  to  leave  him.  I  remember  how  everything 
flashed  through  my  mind.  It  was  a  decision  for 
life  or  death.  If  I  left  him  I  knew  I  might  never 

see  him  alive  again,  and  yet  if  I  did  not " 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  clasped  and  un- 
clasped her  hands.  "  It  was  the  most  horrible 
moment  of  my  life." 

"  My  poor  child !  "  Miss  Arbuthnot  put  her 
hand  timidly  on  the  girl's  arm.  She  suddenly 
felt  absurdly  inexperienced  in  her  presence. 

"  I  got  Ivan's  saddle  on  him — I  don't  know 
just  how — and  we  started.  It  was  about  two 
o'clock  I  remember.  The  prairie  looked  just  like 
the  sea,  at  night — only  more  lonesome  and  quite 
silent.  I  was  horribly  frightened.  Even  Ivan 
was  frightened.  He  trembled  all  over — it's  a 

85 


As  Told  by  Her 


terrible  thing  to  see  a  horse  tremble  with 
fright." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  demanded  Professor 
Arbuthnot,  "  that  you  rode  twenty  miles  in  the 
dead  of  night,  alone  upon  a  Texas  prairie  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  girl  mechanically.  "  It 
was  for  Julian,"  she  added  as  if  in  entire  expla- 
nation. 

Miss  Arbuthnot  looked  at  her ;  she  could  not 
realize  such  wealth  of  courage  and  devotion. 
She  wondered  with  a  sudden,  hot  shame  whether 
she  would  have  dared  it  had  she  been  in  this 
girl's  place. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  prayed  before — really 
prayed  you  know,"  she  ran  on  meditatively 
as  if  she  had  forgotten  the  Professor's  pres- 
ence. "  It  was  dawn  when  we  got  back."  She 
stopped  entirely  and  looked  out  through  the 
window  onto  the  cool  green  campus.  Miss 
Arbuthnot  scarcely  dared  move.  There  was 
something  so  intimate,  almost  sacred  in  the  girl's 
revelations. 

"Did  he  live  ?  "  she  inquired  softly  at  length. 

The  girl  turned  her  face  toward  her.  An  al- 
most illuminated  look  had  come  into  it. 

"  Yes — the  doctor  saved  his  life,  but  he  said 
if  I  had  been  two  hours  later !  " 

"  You  saved  his  life ! "  Professor  Arbuthnot 

86 


As  Told  by  Her 


got  up  and  walked  to  the  window.  She  could 
not  quite  take  it  all  in.  The  girl  appeared  entire- 
ly different  to  her.  She  was  looking  at  a  woman 
who  had  saved  the  life  of  the  man  she  loved. 

"  And  then —  "  the  girl  gave  a  little  laugh — 
"  I  fainted — wasn't  it  ridiculous  ?  I  am  such  an 
idiot.  It  makes  me  ashamed  to  think  of  it  now 
— when  there  was  so  much  to  be  done — and  for 
me  to  faint !  "  She  gave  an  impatient  little  shake 
of  the  head. 

"  I  am  sure  you  never  did  anything  so  silly  as 
to  faint !  "  She  glanced  admiringly  at  Professor 
Arbuthnot. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  experienced  any  emo- 
tion sufficiently  strong  to  make  me. "  Miss  Ar- 
buthnot spoke  so  grimly  that  the  girl  jumped  up 
hurriedly. 

"I'm  awfully  afraid  I  am   boring    you    and 

keeping  you  from  your  work "     She  gave  a 

glance  at  the  manuscript  upon  the  desk.     "  I'm 
sure  you  are  wanting  to  get  at  it,  and  think  me 
very  troublesome  to  tell  you  all  this  about  my- 
self." 
*    Professor  Arbuthnot  looked  at  her  a  moment. 

"  Sit  down ! "  she  said  imperiously.  "  I  am 
learning  more  than  if  I  were  working  on  the 
physical  principles  of  the  nebular  theory ! " 

The  girl  gave  a  gay,  puzzled  little  laugh. 

87 


As  Told  by  Her 

"Are  you  making  fun  of  me?  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean." 

Miss  Arbuthnot  waved  her  remark  away  im- 
patiently. 

"  And  after  you  had  recovered  from  your  faint- 
ing spell,  what  happened  ?  " 

"  Oh — I  helped  the  doctor  and  we  pulled  Ju- 
lian through  together  somehow.  And  then  I 
went  to  work.  He  was  ill  all  winter — something 
had  to  be  done — I  sing  fairly  well " 

"  I  remember  now,"  broke  in  Miss  Arbuthnot. 
"  You  used  to  sing  at  College  Vespers.  I  liked 
your  voice." 

The  girl  gave  a  gasp  of  pleasure.  She  felt  im- 
mensely flattered  that  Professor  Arbuthnot  had 
liked  to  hear  her  sing. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  feelingly.  "  I  got  a 
position  in  a  church  choir  and  I  went  into  town 
three  days  in  the  week  and  gave  lessons.  I  made 
four  hundred  dollars  that  winter."  She  broke  off 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  felt  so 
good  in  all  my  life  as  when  I  counted  up  and 
found  that  I  had  really  made  four  hundred  dol- 
lars for  Julian!  I  never  understood  before 
why  poor  people  want  to  get  married — it's  for 
the  fun  of  working  for  each  other  I  think.  It's 
the  most  satisfying  sensation  I  know  of."  She 
glanced  up  at  the  woman  beside  the  window. 


As  Told  by  Her 


Miss  Arbuthnot  nodded  absently.  She  was 
thinking  of  her  safe  investments — she  had  ac- 
cumulated a  good  deal  of  money  during  her  long 
years  of  teaching  and  her  people  had  all  been 
well  off  and  she  had  never  given  a  cent  to  any- 
one except  in  presents  and  trifling  remembrances 
and  organized  charitable  work.  A  strange  desire 
grew  upon  her  to  share  her  life  with  someone. 
She  looked  with  troubled  eyes  at  the  girl  who 
had  suddenly  made  her  work  and  her  life  dissat- 
isfying to  her. 

"  I  don't  understand  " — she  murmured — "  and 
didn't  you  ever  regret  —  regret  your  wealth 
and  social  position  ?  —  the  other  life  you  had 
known  ?  " 

"  I  think  it's  my  turn  not  to  understand,"  said 
the  girl  slowly  with  a  puzzled  look.  "  You  mean 
did  I  regret  marrying  Julian  ?  " 

Miss  Arbuthnot  nodded.  An  angry  little  flush 
mounted  to  the  girl's  cheek,  and  then,  as  if  the 
mere  thought  was  too  amusing  to  be  taken  seri- 
ously : 

"  Regret  marrying  Julian  ?  O  !  Professor  Ar- 
buthnot— and  then  there  was  little  Julian,  you 
know.  He  was  the  dearest,  the  sweetest — wait, 
I  have  his  picture."  She  pulled  at  a  little  silk 
cord  about  her  neck  and  drew  forth  a  small 
miniature  case.  In  it,  painted  on  porcelain,  was 


As  Told  by  Her 


the  head  of  a  child  with  the  blond  beauty  of  its 
mother.  As  the  girl  looked  at  it  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  and  she  bent  over  it  sobbing  and  kiss- 
ing it  passionately. 

"  That  is  all  I  have  to  regret,"  she  said.  "  He 
was  two  years  old  when  he  died  —  that  was 
almost  a  year  ago.  I  couldn't  tell  you  what 
he  was  like.  I  think  he  was  the  brightest, 
prettiest,  sweetest  boy  in  the  world.  You  ought 
to  have  seen  his  hands  and  feet — all  dimples 
and  soft  pinkiness  and  milky  whiteness — and 

his  eyes  and  long  lashes !"  she  stopped 

breathlessly. 

Professor  Arbuthnot  looked  at  her  wonder- 
ingly.  She  went  over  to  her  and  looked  down 
at  the  crushed  figure. 

"  You  have  loved  and  loved  again  and  lost. 
You  have  been  a  mother  and  your  child  is  dead," 
she  said  slowly.  "  I  would  sympathize  with  you 
if  I  knew  how." 

The  girl  caught  her  hand. 

"  How  kind  you  are  !  I  never  speak  of  this — 
I  hardly  know  how  I  came  to  do  so  with  you.  I 
am  sure  I  must  have  wearied  you."  She  put  the 
locket  back  and  began  to  draw  on  her  gloves 
again  slowly. 

Professor  Arbuthnot  said  nothing.  In  the  last 
hour  she  had  had  glimpses  of  a  life  and  a  love 
80 


HOW   KIND   YOU    ARE  " 


As  Told  by  Her 


she  had  never  known,  and  the  revelation  si- 
lenced her.  She  had  sometimes  reproached 
herself  that  the  studious  calm,  the  entire  ab- 
sorption of  her  life  in  her  work  had  been  exag- 
gerated, and  as  she  looked  at  the  slight  figure  in 
its  black  gown,  at  the  pale  face  with  its  sombred, 
youthful  beauty,  the  conviction  was  borne  in 
upon  her,  by  this  little  breath  from  the  outside 
world,  by  the  life  of  this  girl  as  told  by  her, 
that  the  insularity  of  her  existence  had  been 
a  mistake.  A  sudden  intense  dissatisfaction 
and  impatience  with  her  life  took  hold  upon 
her. 

The  girl  rose  to  go.  She  stood  there  hesitat- 
ing, embarrassed,  as  if  she  wished  to  ask  some- 
thing, and  rather  dreaded  doing  so. 

"I — I  shall  have  a  great  deal  of  time  this  win- 
ter," she  hazarded,  twisting  the  ring  of  her  fan 
slowly  round  and  round  her  finger,  "  and  I  am 
going  to  study — indeed  I  am  !  "  She  glanced  up 
quickly,  as  if  afraid  Professor  Arbuthnot  might 
be  smiling.  "  I  know  you  think  it  foolish  for 
me  to  try,  but  you  don't  know  how  you've  in- 
spired me  this  afternoon  !  "  She  went  on  en- 
thusiastically. "  You  and  everything  here  make 
me  realize  intensely  how  little  I  know,  and  I 
am  going  to  begin  and  really  learn  something. 
You  don't  know  how  much  obliged  I'd  be  if 

91 


As  Told  by  Her 


you  would  tell  me  a  little  how  to  begin — what 
to  start  on — something  easy,  adapted  for  weak 
intellects ! " 

She  looked  up  smiling  and  with  heightened 
color  at  Professor  Arbuthnot.  She  still  stood  in 
so  much  awe  of  her  and  was  so  afraid  of  being 
laughed  at ! 

But  that  lady  was  not  laughing  at  all.  She 
looked  preternaturally  grave. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  you 
and  the  natural  sciences  can  get  along  admirably 
without  each  other.  Why,  child,  you  have  lived ! " 
she  cried  with  sudden  vehemence.  She  went 
over  and  shook  her  gently  by  the  shoulder. 
"  You  are  twenty-four  and  I  am  fifty  !  In  four 
years  you  have  crowded  into  your  life  more  than 
I  shall  ever  learn !  " 

The  girl  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  puzzled. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  so  soon  what  we  heard 
this  afternoon — that  '  life  is  everything,  that  all 
that  you  can  learn  in  a  hundred  times  the  four 
years  of  your  college  course  is  but  the  least  part 
of  what  life  and  nature  can  teach  you  ?  ' '  She 
pushed  the  girl  toward  the  door. 

"  When  you  are  tired  of  living  come  back  to 
me." 

She  stood  and  watched  the  girl,  with  the  mys- 
tified, half-hurt  look  on  her  face,  disappear 

92 


As  Told  by  Her 

down  the  corridor.  When  she  had  quite  gone 
she  went  in  and  stood  at  the  window  for  a  long, 
long  while  looking  out  at  the  deepening  shad- 
ows, and  then  she  seated  herself  grimly  at  her 
desk  and  wrote  to  her  publishers  that  they  would 
have  to  delay  the  appearance  of  her  book,  as  she 
felt  she  needed  a  vacation  and  would  have  to 
give  up  work  on  it  for  awhile. 


93 


A  SHORT  CAREER 


A  SHORT  CAREER 

SHE  was  so  noticeably  pretty  and  stylish, 
with  that  thorough-bred  air  of  the  young 
girl  to  whom  life  has  always  been  something 
more  or  less  of  a  social  event,  that  she  attracted 
a  great  deal  of  attention,  though,  of  course,  she 
very  properly  appeared  to  be  oblivious  of  that 
fact.  Even  the  baggage-master,  when  she  caught 
his  eye,  hastened  toward  her  and  bestirred  him- 
self generally  in  a  way  that  is  not  character- 
istic of  baggage-men  on  the  Boston  and  Al- 
bany, or  any  other  road.  She  noticed  vaguely 
that  he  seemed  rather  surprised  when  she  gave 
him  her  four  trunk-checks  and  he  assured  her 
with  elaborate  politeness  that  the  train  would 
stop  at  a  certain  small  station  without  fail,  to  let 
off  several  hundred  young  women  who  wished  to 
go  directly  to  "  the  College." 

When  Miss  Eva  Hungerford,  on  the  comple- 
tion of  an  enthusiastic  college  career,  wrote  to 
her  young  Philadelphia  cousin,  Margaret  Wright, 
that  she  ought  to  take  a  college  course,  it  was 
quite  in  despair  of  really  inducing  that  young 

97 


A  Short  Career 


lady  to  do  so,  and  only  in  the  vain  hope  of  sav- 
ing her  from  an  early  and  ill-considered  mar- 
riage with  an  extremely  nice  Harvard  youth, 
who  declared  that  he  would  cheerfully  forego 
his  senior  year  if  her  parents  would  give  their 
consent. 

It  was  therefore  with  both  delight  and  sur- 
prise that,  just  before  starting  for  Europe,  Miss 
Hungerford  received  a  rather  gloomy  letter  from 
her  young  cousin,  who  said  that  with  such  a  brill- 
iant example  before  her,  and  deeply  impressed 
by  the  weighty  arguments  in  her  cousin's  letter, 
she  had  told  the  Harvard  man  that  she  was 
much  too  young  and  ignorant  to  marry,  and 
fully  convinced  that  society  was  a  hollow  sham, 
she  had  determined  to  devote  the  next  four 
years  to  those  pursuits  which  had  raised  her 
cousin  so  far  above  the  ordinary  girl.  She  was 
even  greatly  interested,  she  said,  in  her  prep- 
arations for  the  entrance  examinations  which 
she  would  take  at  Philadelphia,  and  the  chances 
of  her  being  admitted.  Miss  Hungerford  was 
quite  touched  by  the  little  tribute  to  herself  con- 
tained in  the  letter,  and  wrote  a  most  cordial 
answer,  and  rather  upbraided  herself  for  having 
thought  so  lightly  of  her  cousin.  But  her 
mother  seemed  to  be  distressingly  sceptical 
about  Margaret's  heroic  determination,  and  said 

98 


A  Short  Career 


she  shouldn't  wonder  if  some  misunderstanding 
with  the  Harvard  man  were  not  at  the  bottom  of 
it.  But  Miss  Hungerford  was  confident  that 
such  a  lofty  purpose  could  have  been  born  only 
of  some  noble  sentiment,  and  refused  to  have 
her  faith  in  her  young  cousin  shaken  by  such  a 
supposition. 

When  Miss  Wright  got  off  the  train  at  the 
pretty  little  station,  she  found  herself  in  the 
midst  of  a  sufficiently  large  crowd  of  young 
women,  all  of  whom  seemed  to  be  aggravatingly 
well  acquainted  with  each  other,  and  who  set 
about  in  a  most  business-like  way  to  get  where 
they  wanted  to  go,  some  taking  "  barges "  and 
omnibuses,  others  striking  out  easily  over  the 
roads  hi  the  direction  of  the  college.  Being 
totally  unfamiliar  with  the  place  and  somewhat 
bewildered  by  the  number  of  girls,  Miss  Wright 
thought  she  would  simply  take  a  carriage  and 
get  up  to  the  college  as  quickly  as  possible. 

She  never  told  anyone  but  her  best  friend 
what  were  her  sensations  on  reaching  the  big 
building  and  being  "numbered"  for  an  inter- 
view with  one  of  the  assistant  professors,  in- 
stead of  seeing  the  president  herself,  as  she  had 
expected  to  do ;  or  how  hurt  she  felt  at  being 
totally  ignored  by  the  vast  majority  of  busy, 
rather  severe-looking  young  women,  or  how 

99 


A  Short  Career 


grateful  she  felt  to  a  patronizing  Sophomore  who 
talked  to  her  kindly,  if  condescendingly,  for  a 
few  moments  and  who  took  her  through  unend- 
ing corridors  to  her  rooms.  Later  in  the  day 
she  found  two  or  three  girls  who  wore  tailor- 
made  travelling  gowns  and  seemed  ill  at  ease, 
and  they  all  huddled  together  in  a  corner  of  one 
of  the  big  corridors  and  talked  rather  helplessly 
to  each  other.  They  would  have  liked  to  know 
what  the  peals  on  the  big  Japanese  bell  meant, 
and  if  they  were  expected  to  do  anything  about 
it,  but  they  were  afraid  to  ask  anyone,  because 
they  were  not  sure  which  were  the  professors 
and  which  the  students. 

"When  it  came  her  turn  to  see  the  assistant, 
she  felt  quite  ready  to  go  home.  She  had  made 
out  a  list  of  studies  which  she  thought  she  would 
like,  but  when  she  showed  it  to  the  professor, 
that  astute  lady  very  kindly  but  firmly  told  her 
that  it  was  ill-advised  and  made  her  out  another. 
She  had  wanted  to  study  mathematical  astrono- 
my, because  a  Harvard  man  had  said  a  chum  of 
his  studied  it  and  found  it  "  immense,"  and  be- 
sides she  thought  the  name  would  impress  her 
friends ;  but  the  professor  pointed  out  to  her  that 
she  would  have  to  take  the  entire  course  in  math- 
ematics before  she  could  hope  to  do  anything  with 
the  astronomy.  It  was  the  same  way  with  sev- 
100 


eral  other  things,  and  she  found,  when  the  inter- 
view was  over,  that  her  list  consisted  mostly  of 
freshman  studies.  She  was  rather  disheartened 
by  this,  but  remembered  that  Miss  Hungerford 
had  been  a  full  freshman,  and  so  she  determined 
to  go  to  work  conscientiously. 

And  she  did  work  very  hard,  but  there  were  a 
great  many  young  women  who  seemed  to  have 
had  a  much  more  thorough  previous  education 
than  herself,  and  though  she  was  not  in  the  least 
snobbish,  she  was  secretly  surprised  and  a  little 
bit  aggrieved  by  their  evident  disregard  of  her 
superior  gowns.  She  might  as  well  not  even 
curl  her  hair,  she  thought  gloomily — most  of  the 
best  students  wore  theirs  back  in  a  rather  un- 
compromising way,  and  she  thought  it  might 
have  some  influence  for  the  better  on  her  mind, 
and  half-way  determined  to  do  it.  But  when  she 
saw  how  she  looked  with  it  straight  and  pulled 
quite  back,  she  gave  it  up  for  fear  the  Harvard 
man  (who  though  so  near,  maintained  a  stony 
silence  and  invisibility)  should  happen  to  come 
over  to  the  college  to  see  some  other  girl. 

When  the  winter  concerts  began  and  the 
young  women  were  inviting  their  friends  out 
from  the  "  Tech  "  and  Harvard  and  Amherst, 
and  other  places  which  to  any  but  the  college 
mind  would  seem  appallingly  distant,  she  sat 
101 


A  Short  Career 


resigned  and  alone,  and  wondered  what  her  peo- 
ple would  think  if  they  could  see  her  looking  so 
sad  and  deserted.  Her  friends,  she  knew,  would 
feel  sorry  for  her,  and  would  at  last  believe  in 
her  determination  to  go  through  the  course. 

When  she  had  been  at  college  about  four 
months  and  was  beginning  to  realize  how  little 
she  knew,  and  how  infinitely  far  off  the  president 
still  seemed,  and  the  effect  of  the  study  of  chem- 
istry on  a  brain  unprepared  for  it,  and  was  pity- 
ing herself  for  looking  so  pale  and  thin  under 
her  anxieties — one  of  the  favorite  concerts  of  the 
year  was  given.  A  celebrated  violinist  and  his 
wife,  a  charming  singer,  were  coming  out.  It  was 
the  last  concert  before  the  Christmas  holidays, 
and  one  of  the  tailor-made  girls  with  whom  she 
had  become  intimate  since  that  miserable  first 
day  had  invited  a  lot  of  men  out  and  had  asked 
her  to  help  entertain  them.  As  everyone  knows, 
it  is  a  long-established  custom  in  that  college  for 
those  young  women  who  are  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  a  large  masculine  acquaintance  to  ask  their 
friends  to  help  them  "  take  care  "  of  the  surplus 
male  element. 

Miss  Wright  was  feeling  very  blue  that  even- 
ing and  had  just  about  made  up  her  mind  to 
stay  at  the  college  through  the  Christmas  vaca- 
tion, that  she  might  spare  her  parents  the  dis- 

103 


tress  of  seeing  her  so  worn  and  changed ;  so  that 
when  the  tailor-made  girl  came  to  ask  her  to  see 
after  some  of  her  friends  for  her,  she  thought 
that  probably  she  was  entitled  to  some  recrea- 
tion for  the  good  resolution  she  had  made.  But 
she  was  now  much  too  indifferent  to  men  and 
such  things  to  bestir  herself  very  greatly,  so  she 
only  put  on  her  next  most  becoming  gown  and 
descended  languidly  to  find  the  people. 

Her  friend  saw  her  first  and  made  a  little  dive 
at  her  through  the  circle  of  youths  around  her, 
and  bore  her  to  them  with  quite  an  air  of  tri- 
umph. And  then,  while  she  was  trying  to 
hear  the  names  and  remember  where  they  came 
from,  she  suddenly  saw  a  Harvard  man  coming 
toward  her,  and  looking  very  much  surprised 
and  intensely  happy,  and  somewhat  embarrassed. 
She  had  just  time  to  wish  she  had  put  on  the 
other  gown,  when  the  bell  for  the  concert 
sounded  and  everybody  began  to  rush  down  the 
corridor.  Somehow  they  got  left  behind  the 
others,  and  as  the  place  was  crowded  and  they 
did  not  seem  to  care  much  for  the  celebrated 
violinist,  who  really  played  exceptionally  well 
that  evening,  they  considerately  took  seats 
against  the  wall  behind  everybody,  where  they 
could  talk  to  their  hearts'  content. 

And  they  really  must  have  talked  quite  a  good 

103 


A  Short-  Career 


deal,  for  when  the  last  bell  sounded  for  all  the 
visitors  to  go  and  the  driver  of  the  big  college 
sleigh  (which  was  really  an  omnibus  on  runners) 
was  shouting  himself  hoarse  in  the  "  centre  "  and 
in  nervous  asides  assuring  the  excited  and  ag- 
grieved passengers  already  assembled  and  wait- 
ing that  they  would  all  be  late  for  the  last  train 
that  night  if  the  remaining  few  did  not  hurry  up 
—while  all  of  this  was  going  on,  the  Harvard 
man  was  still  sitting  with  her  on  the  pedestal  of 
a  plaster  statue  in  a  darkened  corner  of  a  cor- 
ridor, assuring  her  that  they  could  be  married 
just  as  soon  as  the  finals  were  over,  and  that 
though  he  was  sure  to  be  made  a  marshal  he 
would  not  wait  for  Class  Day  for  anything  which 
he  could  then  think  of  under  the  sun,  and  that 
instead  of  sending  out  invitations  to  a  spread 
in  Beck,  he  would  give  his  friends  a  delightful 
shock  by  substituting  his  wedding  cards  for 
them,  and  while  the  other  fellows  were  working 
like  beavers  at  the  Tree,  or  rilling  dance  cards 
for  their  friends,  or  wearing  themselves  to 
shreds  dancing  with  their  friends'  friends,  they 
could  be  in  a  boat  half-way  over  to  the  other 
side.  And  she  was  saying  she  didn't  think  she 
would  come  back  after  Christmas  so  as  to  have 
plenty  of  time  to  get  her  gowns  and  things  ready, 
and  that  she  did  not  think  she  was  really  and 

104 


A  Short  Career 


truly  fitted  for  college  life  ;  which  he  interrupted 
to  assure  her  that  he  was  certain  she  already 
knew  vastly  more  than  he  did,  and  that  he  would 
telegraph  her  mother  and  father  about  the  whole 
thing  before  he  slept,  and  that  if  the  answer  was 
favorable  he  would  send  her  some  flowers  the 
next  day  as  a  token.  And  then  when  the  coach- 
man's patience  had  quite  given  out  and  they 
heard  the  sleigh  go  dashing  away  from  under  the 
porte-cochere,  before  she  could  realize  it  he  had 
kissed  her  once  quickly  and  jumped  down  the 
steps  four  at  a  time,  and  was  out  of  the  door 
tearing  after  the  vanishing  coach. 

The  next  afternoon  Miss  Wright  received  an 
enormous  box  full  of  Mabel  Morrison  roses,  and 
her  tailor-made  friend,  not  understanding  the 
significance  of  the  flowers,  thought  it  was  rather 
shabby  on  her  part  not  to  offer  her  some.  About 
the  same  time  of  day  the  Harvard  man  sent  a 
long  and  explicit  telegram  to  the  agent  of  the 
Cunard  Line  for  the  very  best  stateroom  on  a 
steamer  sailing  on  or  about  the  20th  of  the  next 
June,  and  blushed  boyishly  and  then  laughed 
a  little  at  its  "  previousness,"  as  he  signed  the 
application  for  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roger  Pervere, 
New  York,"  six  months  before  his  wedding-day. 


105 


AN  EPISODE 


AN  EPISODE 

JUDGE  CAHILL  drew  his  chair  a  trifle 
nearer  the  fire  and  the  tall,  muscular  young 
man  who  was  with  him,  and  who  bore  so  strik- 
ing a  resemblance  to  him  as  to  be  unmistak- 
ably his  son,  dropped  into  one  opposite.  They 
had  finished  their  late  dinner  and  were  on  the 
way  to  the  library,  but  the  elder  man  had 
paused  before  the  big  chimney-piece,  standing 
meditatively  for  a  few  moments,  and  had  finally 
seated  himself  comfortably  and  evidently  with 
no  immediate  intention  of  proceeding  to  the 
library  beyond. 

"  The  whole  arrangement  is  just  what  I  have 
planned  and  hoped  for  all  my  life,"  he  said  at 
length,  with  a  bright  look  at  the  young  man  op- 
posite. "  And  we  have  a  capital  chance  of  talk- 
ing it  over  together  to-night.  It  is  rather  lucky 
that  your  aunt  is  away  for  a  few  days,  Dana. 
Your  sister  will  be  delighted.  You  must  write 
to  her  at  once  that  it  is  un  fait  accompli  and  that 
she  must  leave  college  for  over  Sunday  and 
come  in  and  celebrate  with  us ! " 

109 


An  Episode 

"  Oil !  it  will  doubtless  seem  a  mere  trifle  to 
Louise  in  comparison  with  her  own  arduous  du- 
ties and  tasks,"  responded  young  Cahill,  laugh- 
ing a  little  and  offering  a  cigar  to  his  father,  who 
refused  it  with  a  slight  shake  of  his  fine,  white 
head. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  smoke  one,"  he  said, 
lighting  his  own. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  mind  at  all,"  said  the  elder  man ; 
and  then  absently  and  sadly,  as  he  pushed  the 
thick,  silvery  hair  back  from  his  forehead  with 
a  quick  decisive  motion  habitual  with  him  : 

"  I  wish  your  mother  could  have  lived  to  see 
this,  Dana ! " 

The  younger  man  made  an  inarticulate  mur- 
mur of  assent  and  regret,  and  then  they  both  sat 
silent,  staring  into  the  crackling  logs,  while  the 
butler  moved  noiselessly  about,  putting  a  de- 
canter and  glasses  on  the  table  and  turning 
down  the  lamp  a  bit  and  folding  back  the  screen. 
The  younger  man  was  making  a  rather  unsuccess- 
ful attempt  to  recall  his  mother.  He  remem- 
bered her  vaguely  as  a  boy  of  eight  remembers, 
and  she  had  always  seemed  to  him  rather  like 
some  beautiful  woman  of  whom  he  had  read 
than  his  own  mother ;  and  the  portrait  of  her  in 
the  drawing-room,  although  he  could  recall  every 
feature,  every  line  of  it,  was  like  the  picture  of 
no 


An  Episode 

any  other  beautiful  woman  he  might  have  seen 
in  a  gallery  abroad  or  the  year's  Academy.  At 
last  he  looked  up,  and  shaking  the  ash  from  his 
cigar,  said,  with  rather  an  effort — 

"You  have  been  most  kind,  sir.  I  scarcely 
think  I  deserve  so  much  at  your  hands.  I  shall 
try  to  be  all  you  wish." 

Judge  Cahill  looked  quickly  around.  "  That's 
right !  that's  right,  my  boy !  "  he  said  heartily, 
and  with  a  touch  of  surprise  in  his  voice.  "  You 
have  always  been  what  I  wished — not  very  stu- 
dious, perhaps  " — he  laughed  indulgently,  "  but 
you  always  stood  fairly  well  at  the  University, 
and  although  you  have  doubtless  done  a  great 
many  things  of  which  I  know  nothing  and  of 
which  I  do  not  wish  to  know,"  he  added  quickly 
and  decidedly,  "  still  I  believe  you  have  lived  a 
life  which  you  have  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of. 
I  know  that  you  are  honest,  and  truthful,  and 
straight,  and  that  I  can  trust  you,  and  that  the 
responsibilities  which  you  are  to  assume  will 
make  you  even  more  upright  and  '  square,'  if 
possible." 

He  glanced  admiringly  and  affectionately  at 
the  athletic  young  figure  sitting  easily  before 
him,  at  the  well-shaped  head  and  pleasant  blue 
eyes  and  finely-cut  mouth  of  the  young  man. 

"  You  might  have  been  so  different,"  went  on 
in 


An  Episode 

the  older  man,  musingly,  and  with  a  certain 
whimsicality.  "You  might  never  have  been 
willing  to  go  through  the  University ;  or  worse 
still,  you  might  never  have  been  able  to  get 
through  ;  or  you  might  have  made  debts  that 
even  I  would  not  have  felt  willing  or  able  to 
pay  ;  or  you  might  have  been  unwilling  to  sup- 
plement your  college  education  with  the  years 
of  travel  which  I  thought  necessary ;  or  you 
might  have  had  so  decided  a  dislike  for  the  law 
that  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  me  to 
take  you  in  the  firm  as  I  am  now  so  delighted, 
so  proud  to  do  ;  or  you  might  have  married  too 
soon  and  ruined  your  life.  In  short,  you  might 
have  been  a  disappointment — and  you  are  not." 

The  young  man  shifted  his  position  a  little, 
and  tumbled  the  burnt  end  of  his  cigar  into  the 
ash-tray  at  his  elbow. 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  he  repeated.  "I 
am  not  quite  equal  to  telling  you  just  how  kind 
you  seem  to  me,  and  how  proud  I  am  to  be  the 
junior  member  of  the  firm.  I  feel  a  legal  enthu- 
siasm kindling  within  me  which  I  am  sure 
will  land  me  on  the  Supreme  Bench  some  day !  " 
And  then  he  went  on  more  seriously,  and  with 
an  anxious  note  in  his  voice.  "  But  I  hope  you 
are  not  deceiving  yourself  about  me,  sir.  If  you 
remember,  you  did  have  to  pay  debts  for  me  at 
112 


An  Episode 

the  University,  and  there  was  one  time  when  I 
thought  active  measures  would  be  taken  to  pre- 
vent my  finishing  my  course  even  if  I  had  been 
quite  inclined  to  continue,  as  indeed  I  was ;  and 
I  am  not  very  clever,  and  shall  never  be  at  the 
head  of  my  profession  as  you  are,  sir ! " 

Judge  Cahill  leaned  back  and  laughed  easily. 

"  I  had  quite  forgotten  those  little  incidents, 
Dana  !  "  he  said,  "  and  do  you  know,  it  seems  to 
me  that  we  are  unusually  complimentary  and 
effusive  to  each  other  to-night.  I  am  congratu- 
lating myself  on  having  such  a  son,  and  you  on 
having  me  for  your  father !  Well — it  is  not  a 
bad  idea.  A  little  more  demonstration  in  our 
family  will  not  hurt  anything."  He  paused 
slightly,  and  then  added  :  "  Your  mother  was  not 
very  demonstrative." 

Again  young  Cahill  murmured  an  assent  as  ho 
looked  reflectively  into  the  fire.  He  could  just 
remember  that  she  had  not  seemed  very  fond  of 
himself. 

"But  Louise  is  demonstrative  enough,"  he 
said,  at  length. 

"  Yes — yes,  indeed,"  replied  his  father,  read- 
ily. "  Louise  is  very  affectionate  and  enthu- 
siastic. She  seems  tremendously  interested  in 
her  college — much  more  so  than  you  were  in 
yours,"  ho  added  with  another  laugh. 

113 


An  Episode 

Dana  Cahill  got  up  leisurely,  and  stood  by 
the  chimney-piece  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  looking  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 

"  I  am  thinking,  sir,"  he  began,  hesitatingly, 
"  of  what  you  have  said  about  my  having  lived 
straight.  I  want  to  be  fair  about  it.  I  have 
lived  better  than  some.  I  have  done  nothing  to 
be  ashamed  of,  as  you  said,  sir,  and  I  cannot 
think  of  anything  just  now  to  speak  of  which 
would  illustrate  my  point.  But  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  your  ideals  and  principles  are  so 
much  higher  and  purer  than  those  of  most 
young  men  of  to-day,  that  I  may  have  fallen 
short  of  them  in  a  great  many  ways  of  which 
you  do  not  dream."  He  moved  back  uneasily  to 
his  chair  and  dropped  into  it.  "  I  do  not  mean 
in  the  more  vital  questions.  I  have  done  noth- 
ing dishonorable,  nothing  that  I  could  not  afford 
to  do  according  to  the  world's  standard." 

The  elder  man  looked  at  him,  and  a  shade  of 
annoyance  and  uneasiness  crept  into  his  face. 

"  Well?  "  he  asked,  finally. 

Young  Cahill  looked  up,  and  his  frank,  boyish 
face  wore  a  rather  perplexed,  troubled  expres- 
sion. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  that's  all— unless— "  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  lit  another  cigar  rather 
nervously. 

114 


An  Episode 

"  Unless  what  ?  "  insisted  the  elder  man,  the 
uneasiness  and  annoyance  betraying  themselves 
in  his  voice. 

"But,"  he  added,  quickly;  "don't  tell  me 
anything  that  you  might  later  regret  telling,  or 
anything  very  disagreeable  if  you  can  help  it, 
for  I  confess  you  have  been  so  satisfactory,  so 
thoroughly  all  that  I  wanted  my  son  to  be,  that 
I  shrink  from  hearing  anything  to  your  detri- 
ment." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  exactly  to  my  detri- 
ment, for  after  all,  I  was  thinking  of  a  particular 
case  to  illustrate  wrhat  I  said  a  while  ago,  and  I 
am  pretty  sure  that  most  of  the  men  I  know 
wouldn't  think  seriously  of  it  for  a  moment ;  but 
I  acknowledge  that  I  have  never  felt  satisfied 
with  myself  about  it  all."  He  threw  back  his 
head  and  stared  fixedly  at  the  ceiling  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  burst  out  laughing. 

"  By  Jove,  sir !  we  are  getting  demonstra- 
tive," he  said.  "  Do  you  feel  yourself  equal  to 
being  a  father  confessor  besides  just  an  ordinary 
father?" 

Judge  Cahill  smiled  in  a  perfunctory  way. 

"  If  your  conscience  is  in  such  a  bad  way  as 
to  need  confessing,  Dana,  I  shall  be  very  glad 
to  hear,  although  I,  of  course,  cannot  give  you 
absolution." 

115 


An  Episode 

Cahill  paused  a  moment. 

"  That's  so,  sir,"  he  said,  finally.  "  After  all 
it  is  hardly  worth  while  troubling  you  about 
such  a  small  thing,  and  one  that  happened  so 
long  ago,  and  which  is  settled  now,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  forever." 

He  stood  up  as  if  to  say  good-night,  but  the 
elder  man  did  not  rise  and  sat  looking  thought- 
fully at  the  blaze  with  the  uneasy,  surprised 
look  still  on  his  face. 

"It  is  not  about  business ?  nothing  that  af- 
fects your  character  for  honesty  and  fair  deal- 
ing ?  "  he  said  at  length,  interrogatively. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  replied  Cahill,  quickly. 

Judge  Cahill  looked  inexpressively  relieved. 
He  poured  out  a  little  wine  and  drank  it  off 
quickly,  as  if  he  had  experienced  some  moment 
of  sharp  emotion  which  had  left  him  faint.  The 
younger  man  noticed  the  action  and  went  on 
hastily. 

"  It  was  nothing — only  about  a  girl  whom  you 
never  heard  of,  and  myself — something  that  hap- 
pens to  two-thirds  of  the  men  one  meets — it  is 
really  of  little  consequence,  though  it  has  wor- 
ried me,  and  since  I  have  spoken  of  it  at  all,  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  about  it,  sir." 

But  it  was  a  very  fragmentary  story  that  he 
told  and  the  facts,  as  he  reviewed  them  hastily, 

116 


An  Episode 

seemed  absurdly  commonplace  and  inadequate 
to  the  amount  of  worry  he  had  given  himself. 

''  It  was  five  years  ago,  sir,  you  remember, 
just  after  I  left  college,  and  went  out  to  Nevada 
for  the  summer  with  Lord  Deveridge  and  the 
rest  of  that  English  syndicate.  It  was  when 
they  bought  '  The  Bish  '  mine,  you  know.  Of 
course  we  went  about  a  great  deal.  They  were 
so  afraid  of  being  swindled,  and  there  had  been 
such  pots  of  money  lost  out  there  by  English 
syndicates,  that  they  determined  to  investigate 
fully  and  take  every  precaution.  So  they  went 
around  trying  to  sift  things  out,  and  there  were 
a  great  many  complications  of  all  sorts  which 
occasioned  a  great  deal  of  delay,  and  there  were 
so  many  conflicting  rumors  about  the  value  of 
the  mine,  that  I  began  to  think  they  were  never 
going  to  wind  up  things.  Deveridge  and  I  got 
awfully  tired  of  pottering  around  after  all  sorts 
of  men,  meeting  an  expert  geologist  here  and  a 
committee  there,  and  never  getting  at  anything ; 
so  we  finally  decided  to  cut  the  whole  thing  for 
two  weeks  and  go  off  on  a  little  shooting  expedi- 
tion. Two  or  three  others  joined  us,  and  we  had 
magnificent  sport  for  four  days — and  then  I 
sprained  my  bad  ankle  again."  He  stopped 
suddenly.  "  It  is  very  curious  how  things  hap- 
pen," he  said  at  length,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  If 

117 


An  Episode 

it  hadn't  rained  the  morning  of  the  Springfield 
game,  the  ground  wouldn't  have  been  wet  and  I 
wouldn't  have  slipped  in  that  last  scrimmage, 
and  my  ankle  wouldn't  have  been  sprained,  and 
I  wouldn't  have  wrenched  it  on  that  mountain 
road,  and  I  wouldn't  have  been  laid  up  two 
weeks  in  the  house  with  her,  and  none  of  this 
would  have  happened." 

But  the  elder  man  was  in  no  mood  for  trifling. 

"  You  were  saying ?  "  he  began,  anxiously. 

"  That  I  hurt  my  ankle  and  had  to  limp  to 
the  nearest  inhabited  place  and  stay  there  until 
it  got  better.  Of  course  the  others  went  on. 
They  were  coming  back  that  way  and  stopped 
for  me.  I  was  all  broken  up  at  not  being  able 
to  enjoy  the  shooting,  but  my  ankle  gave  me  so 
much  trouble  at  first  that  I  didn't  have  a  great 
deal  of  time  to  think  about  it ;  and  then  it  be- 
gan to  dawn  on  me  that  she — the  daughter  I 
mean — was  unusually  pretty  and  refined  and 
quite  different  from  her  parents  seemingly,  and 
— and — there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  sir,  and  I 
am  afraid  that  I  acted  as  most  young  men  would 
act  under  similar  circumstances." 

"  You  mean,"  said  his  father,  with  an  uncom- 
promising directness  which  Cahill  thought  rather 
brutal  and  unnecessary,  "you  mean  that  you 
made  love  to  the  girl  ?  " 

118 


An  Episode 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"  She  was  very  pretty,  you  know,  and  it  was 
only  for  a  short  time,  and  she  must  have  seen  — 
have  realized — that  there  was  a  difference,  that 
there  was  nothing  to  it.  It  was  only  the  most 
incipient  flirtation — the  same  thing  that  goes  on 
at  Bar  Harbor  and  the  Pier  and  Newport  among 
a  different  class  of  people." 

Judge  Cahill  said  nothing,  rather  to  the  young 
man's  discomfiture,  so  he  ran  on,  hurriedly : 

"  They  were  very  poor,  and  I  paid  them  lib- 
erally for  what  they  did  for  me.  I  confess  I 
rather  lost  my  head  about  the  girl  for  a  week ! 
She  was  strikingly  pretty,  but  she  had  only  the 
most  elementary  education  and  was  absurdly 
unconventional.  Of  course  it  was  nothing,  sir, 
and  I  don't  flatter  myself  that  she  felt  any  worse 
when  I  left  than  I  did — at  least  she  never  made 
any  sign,"  he  added,  meditatively. 

"  I  can  see  how,  from  your  point  of  view,  it 
appeared  nothing,  Dana,"  said  the  elder  man, 
gravely,  at  length.  "  But  I  hope  this  is  the 
only  episode  of  the  kind  in  your  life,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  moment's  pause. 

The  younger  man  stood  up  with  a  rather  re- 
lieved look  on  his  face. 

"  Indeed  it  is,  sir !  and  I  think  the  fact  that  I 
have  let  it  worry  me  so  much  is  proof  that  I  am 

119 


An  Episode 

a  novice  at  it.  The  whole  thing  was  so  unim- 
portant that  I  feel  rather  ridiculous  for  having 
spoken  of  it.  There  was  never  anything  serious 
in  the  affair,  and  of  course,  sir,  I  did  not  dream 
— I  knew  it  would  be  impossible  to  bring  her 

here.     You — my  sister "   he    stopped    and 

looked  around  him  rather  helplessly. 

"  Of  course,"  assented  the  elder  man,  readily. 
"  I  am  glad  you  got  yourself  so  cleanly  out  of 
such  an  entanglement.  As  you  say,  it  was  com- 
monplace and  unimportant.  Have  you  ever 
heard  anything  of  her  since  ?  " 

"  O,  no !  I  saw  her  for  two  weeks  and  then 
we  parted  with  mutual  regret,  and  that  was  all, 
sir  !  Your  too  complimentary  remarks  recalled 
the  whole  episode  to  niy  mind,  and  made  me  feel 
rather  hypocritical,  for  I  confess  that  I  consider 
that  sort  of  thing  extremely  caddish.  There's 
no  excuse  for  it." 

"  There  is  not,  indeed,"  assented  the  elder 
man,  rising.  "  And  it  has  further  surprised  me, 
because  you  have  always  seemed  rather  indif- 
ferent to  women,  Dana — almost  too  much  so. 
"Well — I  am  glad  you  told  me.  Your  life  has 
been  clean,  indeed,  if  you  have  no  worse  things 
to  tell  of  than  a  two  weeks'  flirtation  with  a  little 
Western  girl ! "  He  laughed  again — a  deep, 
hearty  laugh,  with  a  relieved  ring  in  it. 
120 


An  Episode 

"  Good-night ! "  he  said.  "  To-morrow  you 
will  please  get  to  the  office  promptly  as  a  junior 
member  should  !  '  Cahill,  Crosby,  and  Cahill ' 
sounds  very  imposing,  doesn't  it,  Dana  ?  much 
more  so  than  merely  '  Cahill  and  Crosby.'  I'm 
delighted,  my  boy  !  And  it  is  especially  good 
to  think  that  you  are  back  with  me.  What  with 
your  college  life  and  travels,  and  law  study,  I 
have  hardly  seen  anything  of  you  for  ten  years, 
and  at  my  age  one  cannot  spare  ten  years — it  is 
too  big  a  slice  out  of  the  little  cake  left !  Good- 
night ! " 

"  Good-night,  sir ! "  responded  the  young  man, 
heartily,  as  he  held  the  door  open  for  his  father 
to  pass  into  the  library. 

And  then  he  reseated  himself  before  the  fire 
and  smoked  another  cigar  and  recalled  a  great 
many  details  that  had  somehow  slipped  his 
memory  when  talking  to  his  father,  and  he  felt 
distinctly  relieved  and  glad  to  get  away  from  his 
own  thoughts  when  he  remembered  an  engage- 
ment which  took  him  out  immediately. 

At  Easter  Miss  Louise  Cahill  left  college  to 
spend  the  vacation  at  her  home  in  Boston.  It 
was  possibly  because  she  was  small  and  blond 
and  quite  irrepressible  that  her  most  intimate 
friend,  Edith  Minot,  of  Baltimore,  whom  she 
121 


An  Episode 

brought  home  with  her,  was  tall  and  rather 
stately,  with  a  dark,  severe  beauty  quite  in  con- 
trast to  that  of  Miss  Cahill.  They  were  alike, 
however,  in  a  great  many  ways,  in  their  young 
enthusiasms  and  in  their  devotion  to  art — they 
worshipped  Israels  and  Blommers  and  Herzog — 
and  in  their  vast  interest  in  electrical  inventions 
and  discoveries,  and  in  their  sympathy  with 
whatever  was  weak  or  ill  or  oppressed,  and  in 
modern  charities  and  college  settlements.  They 
had  been  great  friends  at  college,  where  Miss 
Minot  had  taken  her  degree  the  year  before,  but 
they  had  seen  little  of  each  other  since,  Miss 
Cahill  having  returned  to  finish  her  college 
course  and  Miss  Minot  having  been  abroad  until 
late  in  the  fall,  and  having  then  been  much 
taken  up  with  the  social  life  of  Baltimore. 

Miss  Cahill  was  very  much  afraid  that  society 
had  spoiled  Miss  Minot,  and  that  she  would  be 
less  interested  in  art  for  art's  sake,  and  in  uni- 
versity extensions  and  college  settlements  and 
organized  charitable  work.  She  was  therefore 
much  delighted  and  very  enthusiastic  to  find 
that  her  friend  was  not  at  all  changed  in  the  ten 
months  of  absence,  but  that  in  the  midst  of  her 
travels  and  social  pleasures  she  had  contrived  to 
devote  a  great  deal  of  time  to  the  things  that 
had  always  interested  her,  and  that  she  had  stud- 

122 


An  Episode 

led  the  Guild  Hall  Loan  Exhibit  and  the  East 
End  with  equal  enthusiasm,  while  in  London, 
and  was  greatly  interested  in  Nikola  Tesla's 
latest  experiments  and  in  college  settlements. 
It  was  the  college  settlements  that  interested  her 
most,  however. 

"  But  I  think,"  she  explained  earnestly  that 
evening  to  her  friend  and  young  Cahill,  after 
the  Judge  and  his  sister  had  gone  into  the  li- 
brary— "  I  think  that  although  there  are  more 
interesting  and  dreadful  things  to  be  contended 
with  at  the  Chicago  Settlement,  and  although 
Rivington  Street  is  on  a  much  larger  scale,  still 
I  think  I  like  the  Boston  College  Settlement  the 
most.  Perhaps  it's  because  I  know  it  better,  or 
because  it  is  not  quite  in  the  slummiest  slums,  or 
because  I'm  so  interested  in  my  protegee  there 
— at  any  rate,  I  like  it  best." 

Miss  Cahill  looked  plaintively  at  her  bro- 
ther. 

"  Just  think,  Dana,  when  Edith  was  at  college 
she  used  to  spend  her  Christmas  vacations  in 
Tyler  Street.  Don't  you  think  she's  very  brave 
aud  good  ?  I'm  sure  I'm  only  too  glad  to  give 
my  money,  and  I'm  greatly  interested  in  it,  and 
awfully  pleased  when  the  others  go  ;  but  I  don't 
think  I  could  possibly  stay  there  myself  !  And 
I  actually  believe  she  came  near  refusing  my  in- 

133 


An  Episode 

vitation  to  come  here,  because  she  thought  she 
ought  to  go  to  the  settlement !  " 

Cahill  laughed  easily. 

"  That  is  hard  on  us,  Miss  Minot.  Think  of 
having  to  compete  in  attractions  with  the  college 
settlement,  and  only  just  managing  to  come  out 
ahead  ! "  He  was  not  thinking  very  much  of 
what  he  was  saying — he  was  looking  at  the 
sombre,  beautiful  eyes,  with  the  lids  slightly 
lowered  over  them,  and  the  sensitively  cut  lips 
and  air  of  thorough  breeding  of  the  girl  before 
him  ;  and  he  was  saying  to  himself  that  he  had 
been  singularly  unfortunate  to  have  always  been 
away  in  Japan,  or  at  the  law  school,  or  in  Paris, 
when  Miss  Minot  had  visited  his  sister. 

A  little  touch  of  color  crept  into  the  clear  pal- 
lor of  the  girl's  cheeks. 

"  How  unkind  of  you  and  Louise  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, smiling.  "  You  must  know  there  could 
be  no  question  of  what  was  nicest  to  me.  I'm 
very  sorry  that  I  like  dances  and  the  opera  and 
luncheons  and  all  that  so  much,  but  it  is  so,  and 
the  people  at  the  college  settlement  are  very 
good  to  let  me  come  in  now  and  then,  and  try  to 
help  a  little  and  ease  my  conscience  a  little  for 
all  its  self-indulgence  and  worldly  pleasures.  So 
you  must  not  think  better  of  me  than  you 
should ! " 

124 


An  Episode 

"  Don't  believe  her,  Dana !  "  interposed  Miss 
Cahill,  indignantly.  "  She  does  it  all  because 
she's  so  awfully  good,  and  she  never  brags  about 
it  as  I  would  do,  I'm  sure,  and  they  all  adore 
her  down  there,  and  the  little  boys  beg  for  her 
flowers,  and  the  little  girls  have  to  be  kissed,  and 
the  teachers  are  always  delighted  to  see  her," 
she  ran  on,  breathlessly  and  triumphantly. 

Miss  Minot  looked  up.  "  I  do  love  the  little 
children  and  they  interest  me  tremendously," 
she  said.  She  leaned  forward  eagerly,  and  ap- 
pealed to  Cahill.  "Don't  you  see,"  she  said, 
"how  easy  it  is  to  become  interested  in  that  sort 
of  thing  ?  One  doesn't  have  to  be  particularly 
religiously  inclined  or  even  ordinarily  good — it's 
just  the  human  nature  of  it  which  touches  one 
so.  You  ought  to  see  them,"  she  went  on,  still 
appealing  to  Cahill.  "  They  are  so  interested 
and  amused  in  their  '  clubs,'  which  meet  differ- 
ent afternoons  in  the  week,  and  they  are  so  anx- 
ious to  get  in  even  before  the  others  leave  !  I 
have  seen  them  climbing  up  in  the  windows  to 
get  a  look  at  the  good  times  the  others  were 
having,  and  waiting  about  at  the  door  in  the 
cold  until  that  '  club  '  should  have  gone  homo 
and  left  the  warm  rooms  and  the  playthings, 
and  the  cheerful,  bright  teachers  to  them.  It 
rather  puts  our  society  functions  to  shame, 

.125 


An  Episode 

where  no  one  goes  to  a  reception  until  the  re- 
ceiving hours  are  half  over,  or  to  the  opera 
until  next  to  the  last  act." 

"  And  you  ought  to  see  how  fond  they  are  of 
her,"  insisted  Miss  Cahill,  admiringly.  "  She  lets 
them  get  on  her  prettiest  gowns  and  muss  her, 
and  she  is  so  patient !  I  keep  at  a  distance,  and 
tell  them  they  are  very  good  and  I  hope  they 
are  having  a  nice  time." 

Cahill  laughed. 

"  Philanthropy  made  easy,  is  what  suits  you, 
Louise ! " 

"But  it  isn't  philanthropy  at  all,"  objected 
Miss  Minot,  "  unless  it's  philanthropy  to  us  out- 
siders to  be  allowed  to  go  and  help  and  share 
a  little  of  the  pleasure  and  culture  of  our  selfish 
lives.  Really  you  ought  to  see  the  children," 
she  went  on,  eagerly.  "  I  don't  believe  Palmer 
Cox's  brownies  or  '  pigs  in  clover '  are  such 
favorites  anywhere  else,  and  you  wouldn't  im- 
agine how  interesting  the  making  of  a  pin-cush- 
ion cover  could  be ;  and  I  never  thought  '  Daisy 
Bell,'  and  '  Sweet  Marie,'  and  '  Mollie  and  the 
Baby  and  I,'  were  really  pretty  tunes  until  I 
heard  a  little  girls'  club  singing  them  in  excel- 
lent tune,  and  with  an  appreciation  of  the  senti- 
ments quite  astonishing." 

Cahill  nodded  a  trifle  absently.     He  decided 

126 


An  Episode 

that  he  had  never  seen  any  girl's  face  quite  as 
lovely  or  that  appealed  to  him  so  as  this  girl's, 
and  that  she  was  very  different  from  most  of  his 
sister's  college  friends,  who  were  such  serious 
young  women  and  who  rather  over-awed  him, 
and  with  whom  he  was  never  entirely  at  his 
ease. 

"  And  then  the  women  in  the  evening !  They 
like  the  singing  best,  I  think.  It  is  wonderful 
to  watch  them  when  she  sings  for  them,  and  I 
think  her  voice  never  sounds  so  beautiful  as 
then." 

Cahill  looked  up  interrogatively. 

"She?"  he  said. 

"It's  her  protegee,  Dana,"  interposed  Miss 
Cahill.  "  Edith  won't  tell  you  the  straight  of  it, 
so  I  shall.  Edith  found  her  already  at  the 
settlement.  She  was  awfully  poor,  but  she  had 
this  glorious  voice  and  she  was  trying  to  support 
herself,  and  earn  enough  to  have  her  voice 
trained.  And  she  would  come  over  Sunday 
evenings — she  lived  near  the  settlement — and 
sing  for  the  men  and  women.  You  ought  to 
see  how  they  appreciate  it  and  how  they  listen  to 
her  quite  quietly,  as  if  astonished  and  charmed 
into  silence.  She  is  nearly  as  poor  as  they,  and 
it  is  all  she  can  do  for  them,  she  says — I  forget 
what  she  did,  type-writing  or  something — and  she 

137 


.    An  Episode 

was  going  to  an  awfully  bad  teacher  and  getting 
her  voice  mined,  and  so  Edith  made  friends 
with  her  in  that  way.  She  has  now  sent  her  to 
Alden  and  really  supports  her  so  she  can  devote 
herself  entirely  to  her  music." 

Miss  Minot  glanced  quickly  up  in  a  little  em- 
barrassed way. 

"  Louise  is  terrible ! "  she  said,  laughing. 
"  But  you  cannot  imagine  how  wonderfully 
beautiful  her  voice  is.  It  is  one  of  those  natur- 
ally perfect  voices — she  had  always  sung,  but 
never  suspected  what  an  extraordinary  gift  she 
had  until  two  or  three  years  ago.  It's  such  a 
tremendous  satisfaction  to  do  something  for  a 
voice  like  that.  One  gets  so  tired  spending  on 
one's  self  and  cultivating  one's  own  little  society 
voice,  that  can  just  be  heard  across  the  drawing- 
room  if  everyone  keeps  quite  still !  Alden  says 
she  will  be  ready  for  Marchesi  in  six  months, 
and  for  the  Grand  Opera  in  a  year." 

"  And  one  of  these  days,  when  she  is  a  great 
prima  donna  and  has  married  a  marquis,  or  a 
count  at  least,  she  will  come  back  and  patronize 
you  and  send  you  a  box  for  the  matinee ! "  re- 
marked Cahill. 

Miss  Minot  shook  her  head  smilingly. 

"  You  are  very  cynical  and  you  don't  know 
her  in  the  least.  She  is  very  beautiful  and 
138 


An  Episode 

very  fine  and  most  grateful  —  absurdly  grate- 
ful." 

"  And  she  adores  Edith,"  put  in  Miss  Cahill. 
"  She  has  been  her  only  friend  and  confidant, 
and  she  worships  her  and  treats  her  as  if  she 
were  a  goddess,  and  I  believe  she  would  have 
her  hands  chopped  off  or  her  eyes  burned  out,  or 
be  executed  quite  cheerfully,  to  show  her  devo- 
tion." 

Miss  Minot  looked  openly  amused.  "  I  don't 
know  about  all  that,  I'm  sure !  "  she  said,  "  but 
I  don't  think  she  would  patronize  me.  Besides 
it  would  not  be  strange  if  she  were  cynical  and 
hard  like  yourself,  Mr.  Cahill,"  she  went  on 
smiling  over  at  him,  "  for  she  has  had  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  already."  The  girl  pushed  her 
chair  back  a  little,  and  her  fine,  earnest  face  grew 
grave  and  perplexed. 

Miss  Cahill  gave  a  little  gasp.  "  I  "knew  she 
had  a  history,  Edith  !  She  looks  like  it.  She 
is  awfully  pretty,"  she  went  on,  turning  to  her 
brother.  "  I  have  seen  her  several  times  at  the 
settlement,  but  we  are  not  friends  yet — I  doubt 
if  she  even  knows  my  name.  I  would  like  to 
know  her,  though — there  is  something  so  sad 
about  her  eyes  and  mouth,  and  her  voice  makes 
one  cry." 

"And  Alden — you  know  Alden,  Mr.  Cahill? 

129 


An  Episode 

— well,  he's  rather  brutal,  sometimes — thinks  only 
of  his  art — and  he  told  her  one  day  that  she  was 
particularly  fortunate  to  have  had  a  great  trouble 
in  her  life,  and  that  it  would  do  more  for  her 
voice  than  ten  years  of  training.  You  ought  to 
have  seen  how  she  looked  at  him !  But  men  are 
brutal ;  it  was  a  man  who  made  her  suffer  first. 
She  only  told  me  part  of  the  story,  I  don't  quite 
understand,  but  I  know  it  nearly  broke  her 
heart,  young  as  she  was,  and  that  she  will  never 
get  over  it  or  be  the  same  again.  I  am  not 
sure,"  went  on  the  girl  thoughtfully,  "  it  was  be- 
fore she  came  to  Boston,  but  I  don't  know  the 
details,  and  of  course  I  could  ask  no  questions. 
She  met  him  quite  a  while  ago,  out  "West,  I  be- 
lieve, where  she  lived,  and  she  thought  he  loved 
her,  he  led  her  to  believe  so,  and  she  loved  him, 
I  know.  He  must  have  been  quite  different 
from  the  men  she  had  known.  He  had  every- 
thing and  she  nothing.  It  was  a  sort  of  King 
Cophetua  and  the  Beggar  Maid  episode,  only  the 
king  was  not  kingly  at  all,  and  when  the  time 
came  for  him  to  go,  he  left  her  quite  calmly." 

Her  face  was  flushed  now  and  her  eyes  wide 
open  and  shining  with  the  indignation  she  felt. 
It  struck  Cahill  again  that  she  was  the  hand- 
somest girl  he  had  ever  seen,  and  he  liked  her  so — 
aroused  and  animated — even  better  than  coldly 

130 


An  Episode 

beautiful.  He  was  not  listening  very  much  to 
what  she  was  saying,  but  he  was  watching  her 
quietly  and  intently,  the  nobly  poised  head  and 
low  forehead  with  the  hair  growing  so  beauti- 
fully on  it,  and  the  rounded  chin  and  firm,  rather 
square  jaw.  As  he  looked  at  her  the  conviction 
was  borne  in  upon  him  that  she  was  a  girl  who 
would  be  capable  of  entire  devotion  or  utter  re- 
nunciation, and  that  she  would  be  implacable  if 
her  confidence  were  once  destroyed. 

"  It  must  be  a  fine  thing  for  a  man  to  do," 
she  went  on,  scornfully,  "  to  make  a  girl  love  him 
and  believe  him  nobler,  and  better,  and  stronger 
than  he  is,  and  then  to  undeceive  her  so  cruelly ! 
And  a  girl  like  this  one,  too!  That  was  the 
worst  of  it.  It  is  bad  enough  when  the  girl  and 
the  man  have  equal  chances — when  they  know 
each  other's  weapons  and  skill,  and  when  they  can 
retire  gracefully  and  before  it  is  too  late,  or  when 
they  are  already  so  scarred  up  that  one  wound 
more  makes  no  difference.  But  when  the  ad- 
vantages are  all  on  one  side — when  one  is  so 
much  stronger  than  the  other !  It  may  be  be- 
cause I  am  so  fond  of  this  girl,  or  it  may  be  be- 
cause I  am  even  yet  unused  to  the  world's  ways, 
and  the  four  years  spent  in  college  and  away 
from  such  things  may  have  made  me  super- 
sensitive,  but  however  it  may  be,  it  seems  a  des- 

131 


An  Episode 

picable  thing  to  me !  "  She  stopped  short,  and 
the  indignation  and  scorn  in  her  voice  rang  out 
sharply. 

Cahill  moved  uneasily  and  looked  around 
him.  He  had  been  so  absorbed  in  watching 
the  girl's  face  that  he  had  hardly  taken  hi  what 
she  had  been  saying,  but  in  some  vague  way  he 
felt  jarred  and  restless. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Miss  Minot,  "  if  only 
she  did  not  take  it  as  she  does — if  she  were 
only  angry,  or  indifferent,  or  revengeful  even — 
but  she  loves  him  still  and  she  would  do  any- 
thing for  him.  She  would  be  capable  to-morrow 
of  sacrificing  herself  and  her  love  if  she  thought 
it  would  make  him  happier.  Such  devotion  is 
as  rare  as  genius." 

Miss  Cahill  leaned  far  forward,  tracing  out  the 
delicate  inlaid  pattern  of  the  table  with  the 
point  of  her  silver  letter-opener. 

"If  I  were  engaged  to  a  man,"  she  said, 
thoughtfully,  "  and  were  to  discover  that  he  had 
treated  a  girl  so,  I  would  give  him  up,  no  matter 
what  it  cost  me." 

"  And  you,  Miss  Minot?  "  said  Cahill,  "  what 
would  you  do  ?  "  He  felt  a  sudden,  sharp  curi- 
osity as  to  her  answer,  and  a  vague  apprehen- 
sion of  what  she  would  say.  The  girl  lifted  her 
head  proudly. 

133 


An  Episode 

"  It  would  not  be  any  effort  for  me  to  give 
such  a  man  up,"  she  said,  quietly. 

Cahill  stood  up  restlessly.  This  girl  had 
touched  upon  something  which  he  would  have 
liked  to  forget.  Of  course  it  had  been  great- 
ly different  in  his  case,  he  assured  himself,  but 
he  felt  uneasy  and  sore.  And  then  he  smiled. 
There  was  something  which  struck  him  as  pathe- 
tically amusing  in  the  seriousness  of  these  two 
girls.  They  were  so  young  and  untried  and 
utterly  unworldly,  and  they  took  such  a  tragic 
view  of  such  a  common-place  affair,  and  were  so 
ready  to  be  sacrificed  for  their  high  ideals  and 
principles. 

"  You  are  very  severe,"  he  said  at  length,  with 
a  rather  forced  laugh.  "  If  we  are  all  to  be 
judged  like  that  it  will  go  hard  with  us."  But 
he  could  attempt  no  excuse  or  explanation  with 
the  girl's  beautiful,  indignant  eyes  upon  him,  and 
presently  the  talk  drifted  off  in  other  channels. 

It  was  about  two  weeks  after  this  that  Cahill 
began  to  realize  just  how  deeply  in  love  he  was 
with  Edith  Minot.  She  had  interested  him  from 
the  first,  and  her  very  dissimilarity  from  most 
of  the  society  girls  he  knew,  the  nobility  and 
seriousness  of  her  nature  beneath  a  rather  cold 
and  conventional  manner,  and  the  young  purity 
of  her  presence  had  struck  him  as  being  the 

133 


An  Episode 

finest  and  most  attractive  things  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  had  been  with  her  a  great  deal  in  the 
two  weeks  she  had  spent  with  his  sister,  and  he 
had  had  a  great  many  opportunities  of  finding 
out  just  how  superior  she  was  to  most  girls,  how 
witty  and  clever  she  could  be,  and  what  native 
dignity  and  fine  simplicity  of  character  she  pos- 
sessed, and  how  sincere  and  truthful  she  was. 
They  had  gone  together  to  teas  and  receptions, 
and  small  dances,  and  the  numerous  post-Easter 
weddings,  and  the  fact  that  she  was  his  sister's 
guest  made  it  very  easy  for  him  to  see  a  great 
deal  of  her  without  any  gossip  or  talk.  But  de- 
lightful as  all  that  had  been,  he  was  glad  now 
that  she  was  going  back  in  a  few  days  to  her 
own  people,  and  that  he  could  go  down  in  a  de- 
cently short  time  and  tell  her  what  he  could  not 
tell  her  in  his  father's  house  and  which  he  had 
found  so  hard  to  withhold.  The  uncertainty  in 
which  he  was  as  to  whether  she  cared  for  him  or 
not  made  him  restless  and  very  properly  de- 
spondent, although  he  sometimes  fancied  that  she 
was  less  cold  to  him  than  to  the  others,  and  that  if 
she  talked  with  him  about  certain  things  of  par- 
ticular interest  to  her,  it  was  because  she  valued 
his  opinion  and  friendship.  And  he  was  much 
pleased  and  very  flattered  when  she  appealed 
to  him  about  her  different  schemes,  and  was  even 

134 


An  Episode 

ready  to  sacrifice  their  last  day  to  the  college 
settlement. 

"  I  really  must  go  to  Tyler  Street  to-day," 
Miss  Miiiot  had  said.  "  It's  my  last  chance.  I 
have  been  very  selfish,  and  have  been  having 
entirely  too  good  a  time.  Why,  I  haven't  even 
seen  my  boys  or  heard  the  Prima  Donna  Con- 
tessa ! "  She  turned  and  smiled  at  Cahill  as  she 
spoke.  "By  the  way,"  she  continued,  "why 
don't  you  and  Louise  come  with  me  and  hear 
her  sing  ?  I  have  sent  her  a  note  telling  her 
to  meet  me  at  the  settlement  at  four  o'clock, 
and  I  know  she  will  be  only  too  pleased  to  sing 
for  us.  It  is  quite  wonderful,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  we  will  go,"  assented  Miss  Cahill 
briskly,  while  her  brother  asquiesced  cheerfully, 
if  less  enthusiastically.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
it  would  be  as  well  for  him  not  to  be  alone  with 
Miss  Minot  any  more,  if  he  intended  to  hold 
to  his  resolution  of  not  speaking  just  yet. 

It  was  rather  late  when  they  started  for  the  set- 
tlement, and  by  the  time  they  had  walked  down 
Tyler  Street  from  Kneeland — they  left  the  car- 
riage at  the  corner  of  Kneeland — they  found  that 
it  was  quite  four  and  time  for  a  club,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  were  enthusiastically  crowding 
around  the  door  waiting  for  permission  to  enter, 
and  playing  leap-frog  and  tag  and  imperilling 

135 


An  Episode 

life  and  limb  by  walking  on  the  spiked  iron 
fence  in  their  frantic  attempts  to  see  in  the 
windows.  But  when  they  caught  sight  of  Miss 
Minot  they  stopped  playing  and  jumped  down 
from  the  fence  and  threw  away  their  shinny 
sticks,  and  began  to  all  talk  at  once  at  her,  and 
to  tell  her  what  they  had  been  doing  during  the 
winter,  and  that  they  hadn't  been  absent  from 
school  but  twice  or  ten  times,  or  not  at  all,  as 
the  case  happened  to  be,  and  they  all  seemed  to 
have  had  a  surprising  number  of  deadly  diseases, 
of  which  fact  they  were  inordinately  proud ;  and 
there  were  several  still  on  the  waiting  list,  who 
wanted  her  to  intercede  for  them  to  have  their 
names  put  in  the  club  books,  so  they  could  go 
in  and  have  a  good  time  with  the  others ;  to  all 
of  which,  and  a  great  deal  more,  she  listened 
sympathetically  and  interestedly.  And  as  she 
stood  so,  the  eager,  softened  expression  on  her 
face,  laughing  and  talking  with  the  children 
crowding  around  her,  the  boys  grabbing  at  her 
hands  and  the  little  girls  touching  shyly  the 
gown  she  wore,  it  seemed  to  Cahill  that  he  had 
never  seen  her  quite  so  lovely  and  lovable.  He 
felt  an  amused  sort  of  jealousy  as  he  saw  her 
run  lightly  up  the  steps  with  her  slim  hands 
held  tightly  by  two  very  dirty  and  very  affec- 
tionate little  boys,  with  the  rest  swarming  after 

136 


An  Episode 

her  and  liemming  her  in;  and  when  the  front 
door  was  finally  opened  and  she  and  his  sister 
disappeared  with  them  into  the  rooms  beyond, 
he  felt  rather  aggrieved  and  out  of  it. 

He  found  himself  in  a  narrow  little  hall  and 
was  just  wondering  what  he  should  do  with  his 
hat  and  stick,  when  she  came  out  from  the  inner 
room,  closing  the  door  behind  her.  She  was 
laughing  in  a  breathless,  pleased  way,  and  her 
face  had  a  little  flush  on  it  as  she  turned  to  him. 

"Please  take  off  my  coat,"  she  gasped,  lean- 
ing against  the  balustrade  of  the  steep  little 
stairs.  "  I'm  going  to  amuse  them  until  the 
Prima  Donna  comes — she  isn't  here,  at  least  I 
don't  see  her  anywhere.  Louise  is  playing  for 
them  now."  Cahill  could  just  catch  the  sounds 
of  a  piano  above  the  shrill  laughter  of  the 
children.  They  were  quite  alone  in  the  little 
hallway,  and  as  he  bent  down  to  take  off  her 
coat,  a  sudden,  wild  impulse  overcame  him. 
He  forgot  everything  except  that  he  loved  her 
and  must  tell  her  so,  and  he  held  her  tightly 
while  he  spoke  rapidly  and  earnestly.  It  sud- 
denly seemed  preposterous  to  him  that  he  could 
have  dreamed  of  waiting  another  week  to  find 
out  whether  she  loved  him  or  not ;  she  must  tell 
him  then  and  there,  he  said,  quick,  before  any- 
one came.  And  although  she  did  not,  in  fact, 

137 


An  Episode 

tell  him  anything  at  all,  he  was  so  content  with 
her  eyes  as  she  turned  toward  him  that,  bend- 
ing down,  he  gave  her  one  quick  kiss  after  an- 
other. 

And  then  the  sound  of  the  piano  ceased  and 
they  heard  a  scramble  of  running  feet  at  the 
door,  which  was  thrown  open  by  Miss  Cahill. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  come  in  ! "  she  cried. 

As  Cahill  and  Miss  Minot  went  into  the  room 
beyond,  a  girl  came  slowly  down  the  stairs  which 
they  had  just  left.  Her  face  was  pitifully  white 
and  drawn,  and  there  was  a  scared,  surprised 
look  in  her  eyes  which  was  not  good  to  see. 
When  she  reached  the  lowest  step  she  stopped 
thoughtfully,  leaning  heavily  against  the  stairs' 
rail. 

"  I  saw  them,"  she  said,  softly  and  tremulous- 
ly to  herself.  "  I  saw  them,  and  there  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  a  mistake.  I  don't  understand  any- 
thing about  it — how  it  has  happened — but  it 
was  he — it  was  lie  !  If  she  loves  him — and  she 
does  love  him — I  saw  it  in  her  face,  there  is  but 
one  thing  for  me  to  do — there  is  no  other  way 
now."  She  put  both  hands  on  the  banister 
and  swayed  slightly  toward  it  in  her  effort  to 
control  herself.  "  She  has  been  everything  to 
me,  has  done  everything  for  me.  And  if  I  love 
him — and  I  do  love  him! — there  is  a  million 

138 


An  Episode 

times  more  necessity  for  me  to  do  it."     Her  lips 
worked  painfully  and  silently  for  a  moment. 

An  instant  later  she  had  crossed  the  narrow 
passageway,  and  throwing  open  the  door,  stood 
there  smiling  faintly,  with  the  hurt,  frightened 
look  still  on  her  pale  face.  Miss  Minot  was  the 
first  to  see  her.  She  moved  toward  her,  swiftly 
catching  both  the  girl's  hands  in  her  own,  and 
dragging  her  forward  to  where  Cahill  and  his 
sister  were  standing. 

"  The  Prima  Donna  Contessa ! "  she  said,  gayly. 
"  May  I  introduce  Miss  Cahill,  Mr.  Cahill— 
but  she  stopped  suddenly,  for  she  saw  Cahill 
take  a  step  forward  while  a  dull  red  suffused  his 
face. 

"  You ! "  he  said — "  you ! "  His  voice  sound- 
ed an  octave  higher  than  usual  and  there  was  a 
queer,  excited  ring  to  it. 

The  girl  drew  back  in  a  puzzled,  half-offended 
way.  But  Cahill  left  his  sister's  side  and  crossed 
quickly  to  where  the  girl  was  standing. 

"  Great  heavens ! — you ! — aren't  you —  ?  "  he 
began,  but  the  girl  interrupted  him  quickly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said,  in  a  politely  distant 
tone. 

"  Don't  pretend — "  he  began  again  with  a  cu- 
rious insistance  in  his  voice ;  and  then  he  stopped, 
putting  his  hand  heavily  on  the  back  of  a  chair 

139 


An  Episode 

near  him  and  looking  at  Miss  Minot  and  the  girl 
standing  beside  her.  An  agony  of  apprehension 
took  hold  upon  him. 

The  girl  made  a  little  gesture  of  surprise  and 
turned  proudly  and  indifferently  to  Miss  Minot. 

"I  don't  think  I  understand,"  she  said  quietly 
to  her. 

The  nonplussed,  vacant  look  on  her  face  made 
Cahill  hesitate.  He  looked  fixedly  at  her.  The 
red  had  left  his  face  now  and  it  showed  a  strange 
pallor.  He  was  just  conscious  of  the  cold,  as- 
tonished look  on  Miss  Minot's  face,  and  that  his 
sister  was  staring  blankly  at  him.  He  pulled 
himself  together  sharply. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  slow 
difficulty.  "  I  have  made  a  stupid  mistake — 
I  thought  — "  he  stopped  and  drew  a  sharp 
breath. 

The  girl's  eyes  met  his  steadily  for  a  moment, 
and  then  she  smiled  again  slightly. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  she  said,  easily.  "  I  have  re- 
minded so  many  people  of  so  many  other  people 
that  I  am  getting  quite  used  to  it !  Resem- 
blances are  so  often  deceiving." 

Cahill  looked  at  her  in  a  curiously  relieved 
way. 

"  And  here  we  are,  standing  talking,"  she  ran 
on,  "while  the  children  are  waiting  to  sing! 

140 


An  Episode 

They  have  learned  some  very  pretty  Easter 
hymns.  You  shall  hear  them." 

She  spoke  rapidly  and  directly  to  Cahill  as 
though  she  wished  to  prevent  him  from  talking, 
and  her  voice  sounded  strained  and  monotonous. 
She  went  over  to  the  piano  quickly  and  seated 
herself,  and  presently,  when  the  children  had  got 
through  their  songs,  she  began  to  sing  alone,  and 
that  evening  both  Miss  Minot  and  Miss  Cahill 
agreed  enthusiastically  that  she  had  never  sung 
like  that  before,  and  that  if  the  director  of  the 
Grand  Opera  had  heard  her  he  would  have  signed 
a  contract  with  her  on  the  spot. 

Miss  Miuot  was  rather  disappointed  that 
Cahill  did  not  seem  more  impressed. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  enjoyed  it  half  as  much 
as  I  thought  you  would,"  she  said,  reproachfully 
to  him.  It  was  late,  and  they  were  just  leaving 
the  drawing-room,  but  he  had  held  her  back  for 
an  instant  while  the  others  passed  on  into  the 
big  hall. 

"  And  isn't  she  lovely  and  a  great  artist  ?  "  she 
insisted. 

Cahill  looked  down  at  the  severely  beautiful 
face  beside  him,  and  for  an  instant  the  feeling 
of  dread  and  apprehension  which  had  swept 
over  him  that  afternoon  returned  with  re- 
doubled force.  He  felt  again  the  sudden,  awful 

141 


An  Episode 

shock  the  sight  of  that  girl's  face  had  been  to 
him,  the  intense  relief  on  discovering  his  mis- 
take. He  realized  acutely  and  for  the  first  time 
just  how  impossible  it  would  ever  be  to  tell  her 
of  that  episode  in  his  life  which  the  girl's  face 
had  recalled,  and  which  he  had  once  felt  im- 
pelled to  tell  his  father,  and  he  determined  to 
make  up  to  her  in  every  way  that  a  man  can, 
for  his  silence.  The  possibility  which  had  faced 
him  for  a  moment,  of  losing  her,  had  made  her 
inexpressibly  dear  to  him,  and  in  that  instant  he 
had  realized  passionately  all  that  the  loss  of  her 
would  mean  to  him.  He  had  felt  unutterably 
glad  that  the  danger  had  been  averted  and  that 
she  need  never  know.  He  did  not  mean  to  de- 
ceive her,  but  as  he  held  her  hand  and  looked 
at  her,  he  had  but  one  thought,  one  fierce  desire 
— to  keep  that  look  of  trust  and  happiness  for- 
ever on  her  earnest  and  beautiful  face.  He 
leaned  forward  slightly. 

"  How  can  I  tell  anything  about  any  other 
woman  when  you  are  there  ?  "  he  said,  argumenta- 
tively,  smiling  at  her.  "  You  didn't  expect  me 
to  take  much  interest  in  the  timbre  of  her  voice 
or  her  trill  when  you  had  just  told  me 

"  Oh,  yes — I  know — I  never  told  you  any- 
thing," objected  the  girl,  laughing  and  drawing 
away  her  hands.  "  And  you  were  so  dramatic — 

143 


An  Episode 

so  curious  when  you  met  her,  that  if  I  had — 
known  you  longer,  I  think  absolutely  I  would 
have  demanded  an  explanation.  Isn't  that  what 
they  say  in  books — '  demand  an  explanation  ?  ' ' 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know  what  they 
say  in  books.  No  book  ever  told  me  anything 
about  this  !  " 

The  girl  turned  her  shining,  happy  eyes  upon 
him. 

"How  unutterably  silly  of  me,"  she  said, 
breathlessly.  "  For  a  moment  you  said  she  was 
so  like  someone,  and  she  had  told  me  her  story, 
I  hardly  know  what  I  thought — imagined."  She 
spoke  in  little,  broken  pauses,  and  as  she  finished 
she  laid  her  hand  timidly  on  Cahill's  arm.  "  You 
said  she  reminded  you  of " 

The  young  man  laughed  happily.  "  The  mere 
idea !  "  he  said,  touching  her  hands  softly,  and 
then  he  added  lightly,  as  they  moved  toward  the 
door:  "What  she  reminded  me  of  was  an  epi- 
sode in  my  life  that  happened  long  ago  and 
which  was  very  uninteresting  and  unimportant." 


143 


HER  DECISION 


HER  DECISION 


MISS  EVA  HUNGEKFOED  was  having  a 
mauvais  quart-cTheure,  or  to  speak  more 
exactly,  une  mauvaise  demi-heure.  She  was  lying 
in  a  long  chair  near  her  dressing-table,  the  pale- 
green  satin  cushions  tucked  closely  around  her, 
and  her  hands  held  tightly  over  her  eyes  to  keep 
out  any  ray  of  sunlight  that  might  enter  the 
spectrally  darkened  room. 

She  was  thinking  hard.  Once,  when  she  par- 
tially emerged  from  her  abstraction,  she  decided 
with  reproach  that  she  could  not  remember  to 
have  thought  so  hard  for  so  long  a  time  since 
leaving  college,  though  in  the  meanwhile  she  had 
written  a  tragedy  and  a  small  volume  of  sonnets. 
The  occasion  called  for  thought.  In  half  an 
hour  he  was  to  be  there,  and  she  had  understood 
from  his  manner  the  evening  before  that  she 
must  have  an  answer  ready  for  him. 

It  was  all  very  tiresome.  She  had  warded 
him  off  so  far,  but  that  could  not  go  on  forever. 
She  had  felt  a  little  frightened ;  he  had  looked 
at  her  in  a  way  she  had  never  imagined  he  could 

147 


Her  Decision 


look,  and  she  had  been  devoutly  thankful  that 
just  then  her  "  most  intimate  friend  "  (even  au- 
thors have  "  intimate  friends  ")  had  come  in  with 
her  brother  to  make  arrangements  about  a  coach- 
ing party  for  the  following  Saturday.  But  she 
could  not  hope  for  a  much  longer  reprieve. 
There  was  a  note  in  his  voice  that  she  could  not 
mistake,  as  he  asked  her  when  he  could  see  her 
alone.  She  wondered  now  why  she  had  told  him 
at  half-past  four  the  next  day.  Why  had  she 
not  said  next  week,  or  after  she  got  back  from 
Mexico,  or  any  other  time  more  remote  than  the 
present  ? 

"Yes,"  she  acknowledged  to  herself,  "I  was 
afraid :  and  not  of  him  but  of  myself.  That  is 
the  humiliation  of  it.  What  was  it  I  read  in 
Ruskin  ?  That  it  all  ends  with  Tom,  Dick,  or 
Harry  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  At  any  rate,  I  shall 
not  give  up  my  career  for  any  man." 

Miss  Hungerford  always  spoke  of  her  "  ca- 
reer "  to  her  friends  with  a  sad  sort  of  expres- 
sion, as  if  it  cut  her  off  from  them  in  some  uii- 
explainable  way,  and  made  her  not  of  this  world. 
Unconsciously  she  enjoyed  the  mingled  admir- 
ation and  awe  of  the  less  ambitiously  intellect- 
ual of  her  "  set "  when  they  heard  that  she  was 
really  going  to  college.  When  she  came  home 
at  vacations  they  gave  her  afternoon  receptions 

148 


Her  Decision 


and  luncheons,  because,  though  of  course  they 
never  breathed  it  to  her,  they  had  met  with  a 
flat  failure  when  they  tried  to  get  their  brothers 
and  masculine  friends  to  come  for  dinner-dances 
and  "small  and  earlies." 

"  Why,  she's  awfully  pretty ! "  they  would  ex- 
claim when  the  men  pleaded  engagements. 

"  She's  terribly  clever,  isn't  she  ?  "  they  would 
ask,  warily.  "  Why,  of  course,  Eva  Hungerford 
is  just  too  bright  for  anything,  but  she  never 
makes  one  feel  it.  She  doesn't  take  a  mean  de- 
light in  showing  off  one's  ignorance.  She  talks 
just  like  we  do,"  they  would  declare,  and  the 
brothers  would  smile  peculiarly  and  vanish. 

But  even  her  warmest  friends  admitted  that 
she  was  carrying  things  too  far  when,  at  the  end 
of  her  college  career  she  announced  her  inten- 
tion of  taking  a  course  in  old  English  at  Oxford, 
and  then  of  going  to  France  to  study  the  litera- 
ture. 

"No,  I  am  not  going  over  in  the  Winthrop's 
yacht,  nor  am  I  going  coaching  with  them 
through  Ireland,"  she  would  explain.  "I  do 
not  mean  to  travel  much.  I  intend  to  study 
seriously.  Of  course,  I  shall  take  my  summers 
off  and  enjoy  myself,  but  I  have  a  serious  end 
in  view,  which  I  must  not  lose  sight  of." 

Miss  Hungerford  had  a  rather  classic  face,  and 

149 


Her  Decision 


looked  like  a  true  Spartan  when  she  would  say 
that.  Her  friends  would  be  either  dumb  with 
admiration  at  such  explanations  or,  sometimes, 
the  more  venturesome  would  try  to  lure  her  from 
her  purpose.  But  she  only  looked  with  pity  on 
such  attempts. 

She  was  away  two  years,  and  although  she  had 
tried  to  keep  up  with  her  friends,  on  returning 
she  found  a  great  many  of  them  married  and 
more  or  less  occupied  with  affairs  which  had  no 
part  in  her  life.  This  saddened  her  very  much 
and  made  her  more  than  ever  determined  to 
pursue  her  "  career."  She  had  very  few  difficul- 
ties to  contend  with.  There  had  been  one  slight 
interruption.  While  in  Paris  the  young  Comte 
de  la  Tour,  whom  she  had  first  met  at  the  Amer- 
ican minister's,  had  taken  up  a  great  deal  of  her 
time.  When  he  proposed,  she  had  refused  him 
so  calmly  that  she  felt  justified  in  admiring  her- 
self. She  was  rather  mortified,  however,  on 
thinking  it  over,  to  find  that  for  a  whole  month 
afterward  she  had  not  been  able  to  fix  her  mind 
on  anything  serious,  and  had  accepted  a  great 
many  invitations  out.  This  taught  her  a  lesson. 
She  had  discovered  that  "to  be  serious,  to  do 
her  best  work,  men  must  not  divert  her  thoughts." 
She  wrote  that  down  in  her  commonplace  book, 
so  that  it  would  be  a  perpetual  warning  to  her. 

150 


Her  Decision 


When  she  got  home,  her  mother  and  father 
were  delighted  to  find  her  no  more  changed. 
They  had  feared  the  worst  from  her  letters. 
Her  mother,  hearing  that  old  English  script  was 
very  hard  on  the  eyesight,  had,  after  a  good  cry, 
resigned  herself  to  glasses.  She  was  intensely 
relieved  to  find  that  there  was  no  occasion  for 
her  resignation,  and  in  her  happiness  to  find  that 
Beowulf  had  not  injured  her  daughter's  vision, 
herself  helped  to  select  a  teak  desk  and  book- 
cases for  a  "  private  study  "  for  her.  She  even 
sanctioned  an  edition  in  pomona  green  and  gold, 
of  the  French  tragedy  and  sonnets.  These  books 
were  not  as  much  reviewed  as  Miss  Hungerford 
had  thought  they  would  be,  but  her  friends  ad- 
mired them  intensely  and  generally  came  to  her 
with  them,  that  she  might  write  her  name  on  the 
title-page. 

But  scarcely  had  the  room  been  arranged  for 
hard  work  (Miss  Hungerford  had  determined  to 
spend  the  next  few  months  in  writing  a  curtain- 
raiser  for  Daly's),  when  another  and  more  serious 
interruption  occurred. 

She  never  knew  just  how  it  happened.  Cer- 
tainly she  had  never  encouraged  him,  though 
she  had  sometimes  suspected  her  mother  of  do- 
ing so,  and  assuredly  Paul  Stanhope  in  no  way 
corresponded  to  her  ideal  hero.  A  few  years 

151 


Her  Decision 


ago  she  would  not  have  admitted  that  she  had 
a  masculine  ideal,  but  now,  as  she  put  another 
cushion  under  her  shoulder,  she  was  forced  to 
admit  to  herself  that  she  might  have  one.  Stan- 
hope was  big  and  strong  and  handsome.  So 
far  he  answered  to  her  ideal.  But  was  he  intel- 
lectual? He  drove  a  four-in-hand  splendidly, 
but  that  was  hardly  an  intellectual  employment. 
Was  he  literary?  She  remembered  that  in 
speaking  once  of  Matthew  Arnold's  "  Monody  on 
the  Death  of  Arthur  Hugh  Clough,"  she  had  no- 
ticed a  distinctly  blank  expression  on  his  face, 
and  that  he  had  tried  to  turn  the  conversation. 
But  Miss  Hungerford  had  been  too  quick  for  him 
and  had  herself  changed  the  subject.  That  was 
one  of  her  best  points,  as  she  acknowledged  to 
herself.  She  could  adapt  herself  to  the  people 
she  happened  to  be  talking  to.  But  could  she 
do  so  for  a  lifetime  ?  Miss  Hungerford  shud- 
dered and  pressed  her  hands  more  tightly  over 
her  eyes,  as  if  to  keep  out  the  vision  of  a  hus- 
band who  did  not  appreciate  allusions  to  the 
"  Cumnor  cowslips." 

Then  in  some  way  the  phrase  "  Art  is  long  " 
got  into  her  head.  She  knew  it,  and  was  not 
afraid.  She  had  said  it  to  herself  a  thousand 
times  to  keep  up  her  courage.  She  knew  she  was 
only  beginning.  Still  she  did  think  the  critics 

152 


Her  Decision 


might  have  noticed  more  positively  that  she 
ivas  beginning.  But  nothing  should  turn  her 
from  her  purpose.  She  was  sure  the  Amer- 
ican drama  needed  fresh  material,  fresh  work- 
ers. She  had  studied  French  methods,  and 
had  determined  to  devote  the  rest  of  her  life 
to  adapting  them  to  the  American  stage.  Her 
youth  would  be  well  spent  in  regenerating  our 
drama  and  elevating  our  literature,  though  she 
should  not  become  famous  until  she  was  an 
old  woman.  Even  with  such  high  resolves  for 
our  country's  good,  Miss  Hungerford  could  not 
entirely  relinquish  all  hope  of  becoming  re- 
nowned. 

"  An  old  woman ! "  She  jumped  up  and, 
drawing  the  silk  curtains  slightly,  gazed  at  her- 
self in  the  mirror.  She  leaned  forward  and 
breathed  lightly  on  the  glass,  so  that  the  reflec- 
tion might  be  more  soft  and  exquisite. 

"  It  must  be  hard  to  lose  one's  good  looks !  " 
she  said,  half  aloud.  Generally,  when  Miss 
Hungerford  was  tempted  to  be  vain,  she  laid  it 
all  to  an  exalted,  abstract  love  of  the  beautiful. 
Now  she  put  her  hands  through  her  hair  at  each 
side  and  drew  it  down  loosely,  so  that  her  face 
was  half  in  shadow  and  altogether  charming. 
And  then  she  put  it  back  suddenly,  for  she  re- 
membered that  it  had  fallen  down  so  once  when 

153 


Her  Decision 


she  and  Stanhope  were  riding  together,  and  he 
had  looked  at  her  in  a  very  openly  admiring 
way.  When  he  had  next  called  she  had  worn  it 
so,  and  his  look  and  exclamation  of  delight  when 
she  had  entered  the  room  had  warned  her  what 
risks  she  was  running. 

She  turned  impatiently  from  the  mirror  and 
picked  up  a  book  that  her  "  most  intimate 
friend  "  had  sent  her  several  days  before.  She 
had  not  read  it,  because  she  had  found  that  it 
commenced  with  a  very  modern  love  scene,  and 
she  never  read  love  scenes.  Miss  Hungerford, 
who  had  a  taste  for  epigram,  once  told  her 
friend  that  "  the  science  of  reading  is  to  know 
how  to  skip,"  and  she  usually  skipped  the  lid  et 
die  dialogues,  but  if  they  occurred  in  a  classic, 
and  she  felt  that  she  had  no  right  to  omit  any- 
thing (she  was  a  very  conscientious  sort  of  per- 
son) she  summoned  all  her  fortitude  to  aid  her 
in  getting  through.  Now  she  opened  the  book 
and  read  a  few  pages.  After  all,  it  did  not  seem 
absolutely  repulsive.  She  decided  that  she  had 
not  given  the  book  a  fair  trial,  and  she  noticed 
with  some  surprise  that,  curiously  enough  from 
the  description  of  him,  the  hero  of  the  story 
must  resemble  Paul  Stanhope.  But  when  she 
found  that  she  was  thinking  of  Stanhope  she 
put  the  book  down. 

154 


Her  Decision 


"  I  am  certainly  getting  frivolous,"  she 
thought  severely. 

"  I  will  go  up  to  my  study.  I  can  think 
better  there."  As  she  passed  her  little  French 
clock,  she  noticed  with  a  slight  shudder  that  it 
was  twenty  minutes  after  four.  She  stopped 
suddenly  and  rang  a  bell.  "  I  will  make  it  easy 
for  both  of  us,"  she  decided ;  "  I  will  order  tea 
served  as  usual,  and  I  will  just  tell  him  very 
calmly  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  take  upon 
myself  any  other  career  than  that  of  a  student 
and  writer.  No  one  can  possibly  be  sentimen- 
tal over  a  tea-urn  and  champagne  biscuits,"  she 
thought  with  relief.  When  the  man  appeared 
she  gave  him  instructions  to  bring  in  the  tea- 
things  at  five  precisely.  "  That  will  make  our 
interview  short  and  yet  give  me  time  to  settle 
it  all  at  once  and  forever,"  she  thought.  "  After- 
ward we  can  discuss  every-day  affairs,  and  I  am 
sure  he  will  recognize  how  wisely  I  have  acted, 
and  we  can  be  very  good  friends,"  and  she  passed 
slowly  up  the  stairs  to  her  particular  den. 

She  felt  stronger  now,  more  certain  of  herself. 
The  first  sheets  of  her  "  curtain-raiser  "  were  ly- 
ing on  her  desk,  and  the  sight  of  them  encour- 
aged her.  For  a  moment  a  bewildering  vision 
of  a  crowded  theatre,  a  storm  of  applause,  and 
herself,  seated  behind  the  curtains  of  a  box, 

155 


Her  Decision 


seeing,  hearing  her  own  piece,  took  possession 
of  her.  She  even  heard  cries  for  the  author, 
but  of  course  her  duty  to  herself  and  her  fami- 
ly would  prevent  her  appearing  publicly  as  the 
writer  of  the  play.  She  could  see  no  objection, 
however,  to  being  pointed  out  as  "  Miss  Hunger- 
ford,  you  know,  the  brilliant  young  authoress." 
Yes,  life  was  a  failure,  art  was  everything! 
Nothing  should  ever  come  between  her  and  her 
work. 

Then  she  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  tried  to 
write.  She  remembered  the  keen  sense  of  pleas- 
ure she  always  experienced  when  she  had  fin- 
ished a  sonnet  or  scene  of  a  play,  but  she  was 
thinking  now  of  how  she  would  receive  Stanhope. 
"  I  will  give  him  my  hand  in  a  very  quiet, 
friendly  way  that  will  show  at  once  what  my 
decision  is.  Nothing  shall  make  me  alter  or 
give  up  my  career." 

But  it  was  very  hard  to  give  up  every- 
thing, and  she  was  very  young  and  her  friends 
thought  her  beautiful.  Could  there  be  no  com- 
promise ?  After  all  life  need  not  be  so  dreary, 
and  Paul  Stanhope  was  distinctly  the  nicest  and 
most  eligible  man  she  knew.  Any  number  of 
girls  liked  him  tremendously,  and  she  sighed 
as  she  thought  that  she  was  keeping  some  girl 
from  getting  a  very  good  husband  indeed. 

156 


Her  Decision 


This  idea,  though  not  wholly  distasteful  to  her, 
brought  her  sharply  back  to  her  resolutions, 
and  she  picked  up  her  Calderon.  She  had 
been  reading  it  the  day  before  and  had  left 
it  turned  down  at  the  page.  Suddenly  a  great 
pity  for  Calderon  took  possession  of  her.  After 
all  he  was  so  dead  now !  Could  he  know  how 
famous  he  was?  Was  he  famous  while  he 
lived  ?  Did  his  fame  bring  him  love  and  happi- 
ness? She  did  not  even  know.  Underneath 
the  Calderon  lay  a  copy  of  a  poet's  works — a 
poet  now  famous  and  beloved,  but  who  had 
died  miserably  poor  and  unknown.  By  the  side 
of  this  volume  lay  the  last  number  of  a  popu- 
lar magazine.  She  had  bought  it  because  it 
contained  a  story  by  a  man  whom  all  the  world 
was  talking  about.  She  had  read  in  the  morn- 
ing's paper  that  he  had  just  been  divorced  from 
his  wife.  The  sight  of  the  book  sickened  her. 
She  turned  away  and  opened  the  case  where 
she  kept  her  Shakespeare,  and  took  out  a  book 
at  random.  It  was  the  sonnets.  He,  too,  the 
greatest  and  wisest,  had  been  wretchedly  un- 
happy. 

Suddenly  the  futility  of  all  effort  took  hold  of 
her.  Suppose  she  should  drudge  her  life  away, 
never  taste  of  happiness,  die,  and  be  only  known 
as  "Hungerford  the  dramatist."  She  shud- 

157 


Her  Decision 


dered.  In  the  years  to  come  many  people  might 
not  even  know  whether  "  Hungerford "  had 
been  a  man  or  a  woman.  But  she  could  never 
hold  up  her  head  again  if  she  should  relinquish 
her  "  career "  now.  What  would  her  friends 
think?  She  felt  that  she  had  burned  her 
ships  behind  her  when  she  had  published  her 
tragedy,  and  that  the  eyes  of  her  world  were 
upon  her. 

She  wished  she  were  not  so  stylish  and  so 
distressingly  well  off  in  this  world's  goods. 
Geniuses,  she  reflected,  were  always  ugly  and 
poor.  Only  lately  had  it  come  to  be  considered 
not  infra  dig.  to  grow  rich  off  one's  brains.  She 
would  have  liked  to  be  an  old-time  ugly,  pov- 
erty-stricken genius.  As  that  could  not  be, 
however  (her  family  might  have  objected  to 
being  dispossessed  of  a  most  generous  income), 
the  best  thing  she  could  do  was  to  work  on  to 
the  end.  Better  to  die  in  harness,  nobly  striv- 
ing after  perfection,  than  to  live  to  an  inglori- 
ously  happy  old  age.  She  saw  herself  a  melan- 
choly woman,  whose  youth  and  beauty  had  fled 
before  the  exhausting  demands  of  her  genius. 
Fame  had  come,  but  too  late.  Her  name  was 
on  every  lip,  but  death  awaited  her.  Nothing 
was  left  her  but  to  choose  her  biographer  and 
epitaph.  She  had  long  thought  that  the  lines 

158 


Her  Decision 


(adapted)  from  the  "  Adonais  "  would  be  very 
appropriate : 

"  Peace,  peace  !  she  is  not  dead,  she  doth  not  sleep  ; 
She  hath  awakened  from  the  dream  of  life !  " 

She  considered  them  very  sweet,  and  Shelley 
had  always  been  one  of  her  gods.  There  was  a 
sort  of  poetical  justice  in  the  selection.  She 
felt  very  sad  and  firm. 

Just  then  someone  tapped  at  the  door,  and  a 
card  was  handed  her.  She  trembled  a  little  as 
she  took  it,  but  there  was  no  change  in  her 
voice  as  she  told  the  man  to  take  Mr.  Stanhope 
to  the  library  and  that  she  would  be  down  im- 
mediately. 

But  she  did  not  go  at  once.  She  stopped  at 
her  own  door  and  went  to  the  mirror,  where  she 
loosened  her  hair  a  little  at  the  sides,  and  after 
looking  critically  at  the  effect,  she  went  slowly 
down  the  stairs.  At  each  step  she  repeated  to 
herself  "  I  must  be  firm.  My  career  before 
everything." 

She  was  saying  this  over  to  herself  for  the 
twentieth  time  when  she  found,  rather  to  her 
dismay,  that  she  was  at  the  door.  Pushing 
aside  the  curtains,  she  extended  her  hand  as 
she  planned  to  do,  but  something  in  Stanhope's 

159 


Her  Decision 


expression  as  he  came  quickly  toward  her  made 
her  falter  and  let  it  drop  to  her  side.  The  next 
thing  she  knew  he  had  his  arms  around  her  and 
she  was  not  repulsing  him.  He  had  not  given 
her  the  least  chance  to  explain,  she  thought  in- 
dignantly. She  would  never  have  allowed  it 
if  he  had  given  her  a  moment's  time!  As  for 
Stanhope,  no  idea  of  explanation  entered  his 
head.  He  saw  no  necessity  for  one. 

After  a  while  she  told  him  that  she  did  not 
love  him,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  believe  her, 
and  she  could  think  of  no  way  of  proving  it 
after  what  had  happened.  Then  she  assured 
him  that  she  had  always  planned  to  spend  her 
life  in  writing  and  study,  and  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  marry  him.  But  he  declared 
that  there  were  no  end  of  writers  in  the  world 
and  absolutely  but  one  woman  who  could  be  his 
wife,  so  that  he  did  not  think  her  decision  just 
or  warranted.  And  then  he  went  over  to  her 
very  tenderly  and  asked  her  if  she  really  cared 
more  for  her  musty  books  and  a  "  brilliant 
career  "  (Stanhope  was  careful  to  use  the  word 
"career")  than  she  did  for  a  man  who  loved 
her  so  devoutly  that  he  would  willingly  lay 
down  his  life  for  her  ?  At  this  Miss  Hunger- 
ford  cried  a  little,  and  he  put  her  head  on  his 
shoulder  while  she  thought  about  it. 

160 


Her  Decision 


While  tliey  were  thus  engaged  the  clock 
struck  five  and  the  servant  appeared  punctually 
with  tea-things.  He  was  much  confused  when 
he  caught  sight  of  them,  and  Miss  Hungerford 
privately  determined  to  speak  to  the  man  for 
his  officiousness. 

The  wedding  was  very  brilliant  and  Miss 
Hungerford's  "most  intimate  friend"  was  maid 
of  honor.  She  never  told  the  bride,  but  she 
told  everyone  else,  "that  she  had  never  ex- 
pected Eva  Hungerford  to  marry  and  give  up 
her  career,  but  that  she  was  thankful  it  had 
happened,  and  she  was  sure  she  would  be 
happy!" 

In  the  meantime  Daly's  is  without  the  cur- 
tain-raiser. 


toi 


REVENGE 


REVENGE 

MISS  ATTERBURY  put  the  paper  she  was 
reading  carefully  and  slowly  down  upon 

the  table.  It  was  the  Boston  ,  and  there 

was  a  long  article  upon  the  first  page  marked  os- 
tentatiously around  with  a  blue  lead-pencil,  and 
headed  in  glaring  letters,  "Athletics  in  Girls' 
Colleges." 

There  was  a  dangerous  gleam  in  Miss  Atter- 
bury's  dark-gray  eyes,  and  she  seemed  a  trifle 
more  than  her  ordinary  five  feet  eight  inches  as 
she  drew  herself  up  and  turned,  with  that  care- 
ful repression  of  irritation  which  always  denotes 
the  extreme  limit  of  self-control,  upon  an  inof- 
fensive freshman,  comfortably  installed  in  the 
window-seat,  playing  a  mandolin. 

"  I  was  in  Antwerp  two  weeks  last  summer," 
she  remarked,  with  careful  emphasis,  "  and  I 
heard  the  cathedral  chimes  play  '  La  Mandolin- 
ata '  twice  every  five  minutes,  I  think.  I  would 
be  obliged  if  you  would  play  something  else,  or 
even  stop  altogether  for  a  while — I  have  some- 
thing important  to  talk  about  just  now." 

165 


Revenge 

The  freshman  stuck  her  pick  guiltily  in  the 
strings,  and  shifted  her  position  upon  the  cush- 
ions into  one  of  extreme  and  flattering  attention, 
while  the  four  girls  who  had  been  playing  whist 
over  in  a  corner  turned  hastily  around  toward 
Miss  Atterbury. 

"  What  is  it  now,  Katharine  ?  "  inquired  Miss 
Yale,  reproachfully,  laying  down  her  cards. 
"She  always  takes  things  so  terribly  au  grand 
serieiwc"  she  explained  plaintively  to  the  rest. 
Miss  Yale  had  her  rooms  with  Miss  Atterbury, 
and  stood  rather  in  awe  of  that  young  woman, 
and  was  very  proud  of  her  athletic  prowess, 
and  could  always  be  relied  upon  to  tell  her 
friends  "  that  Katharine  Atterbury  was  the  cap- 
tain of  the  senior  crew,  and  could  pull  an  oar  as 
well  as  a  'Varsity  stroke,  and  that  the  champion 
tennis-player  of  a  certain  year  had  said  that  she 
was  an  antagonist  to  be  feared  and  respected." 

"  This  is  what  is  the  matter,"  said  Miss  Atter- 
bury, in  a  tragic  voice,  picking  up  the  paper. 
"  I  don't  know  who  it  is  that  writes  such  absurd, 
such  wilfully  misleading  articles  about  us,  but  I 
do  know  that  if  I  could  get  at  him  I  would " 

What  Miss  Atterbury  would  do  was  appa- 
rently too  awful  to  speak  of  just  then. 

One  of  the  girls  got  up  and  went  over  to 
her. 

166 


Revenge 

"  But  what  is  it  ? — what  have  they  said  about 
us  now  ?  "  she  inquired,  impatiently. 

"  What  they  are  always  doing — poking  fun  at 
us,"  replied  Miss  Atterbury,  hotly,  and  with  a 
fine  disregard  of  grammar.  "  To  read  this  arti- 
cle one  would  imagine  that  we  were  imbecile 
babies.  One  would  think  that  a  girl  was  as 
weak  as  a  kitten,  and  didn't  know  a  boat  from 
an  elevator,  or  a  five-lap  running  track  from  an 
ice-wagon,  or  a  golf  club  from  a  sewing-ma- 
chine. He — whoever  the  man  is  who  wrote  this 
ridiculous  article — seems  to  think  that  all  our 
training  and  physical  development  is  a  huge 
joke.  He  don't  even  know  how  stupid  he  is. 
That's  the  worst  of  it — he  isn't  even  aware  of 
his  unutterable,  his  colossal  ignorance ! " 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  to  have  him  drawn  and 
quartered,  as  an  awful  example,  a  sort  of  warn- 
ing to  the  other  newspaper  men  not  to  write 
about  what  they  are  totally  ignorant  of,  and  to 
leave  us  alone,"  suggested  the  inoffensive  little 
freshman,  with  a  base  but  entirely  successful 
attempt  to  get  back  into  Miss  Atterbury's  good 
graces. 

The  senior  gave  her  a  brief  but  cordial  glance, 
and  then  ran  on  : 

"  Something  must  be  done  about  it.  I'm  tired 
of  reading  this  sort  of  trash  about  women's  col- 

167 


leges.  It  is  time  the  public  was  learning  the 
true  state  of  things — that  girls  can  and  do  swim, 
and  row  and  play  golf  and  tennis,  and  run  aud 
walk  about,  just  as  their  brothers  do,  and  that 
we  have  courage  and  muscle  enough  to  go  in  for 
football  even,  except  that  we  have  some  little  re- 
gard for  our  personal  appearance !  " 

"  And  it's  so  degrading  and  irritating  to  go 
home  in  the  vacations,  and  have  one's  brother 
tease  one  to  death  about  it  all,  and  try  to  be 
funny,  and  ask  one  if  the  color  of  one's  gymna- 
sium suit  is  becoming,  and  if  the  golf  captain 
knows  the  caddie  from  a  cleek,"  interposed 
Miss  Thayer,  a  pretty  blond  girl  who  got  up 
slowly  and  sauntered  over  to  Miss  Atterbury, 
putting  her  face  over  that  young  lady's  shoulder 
to  get  a  look  at  the  unfortunate  paper.  As  she 
did  so  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  surprise. 

"  Why,  I  know  the  man  who  wrote  that,"  she 
gasped.  "  There !  J.  E.  N. — see  those  initials 
at  the  end  ? — they  mean  Jack  Newbold.  I  re- 
member now  he  is  writing  for  that  paper.  He 
told  me  this  summer  at  the  sea-shore  that  he 
was  going  in  for  newspaper  work.  His  grand- 
father owns  this  paper,  you  know,  and  has  prom- 
ised him  half  a  million  when  he  is  twenty-five  if 
he  will  go  through  the  whole  thing — learn  every- 
thing a  newspaper  man  must  know.  He  didn't 

168 


Revenge 

want  to  do  it  much,  but,  of  course,  he  would  go 
in  for  almost  anything  sooner  than  lose  all  that 
pile  of  money." 

Miss  Atterbury  looked  thoughtfully  and  in- 
tently at  Miss  Thayer. 

"  You  say  he  is  a  friend  of  yours  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, slowly. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  we  got  to  be  very  good  friends  this 
summer.  He  taught  me  how  to  play  fifteen-ball 
pool — that's  about  all  he  knows,"  went  on  the 
girl,  scornfully.  "He's  an  awful  duffer  about 
everything  else.  You  ought  to  see  him  play 
tennis !  It's  not  very  edifying,  but  it's  awfully 
funny." 

Miss  Atterbury  gave  a  little  gasp  of  delight. 

"  That's  too  good  to  be  true,"  she  said,  enthu- 
siastically. 

Miss  Thayer  rather  stared.  "  Why  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, and  then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 
she  swept  on.  "  You  wouldn't  think  so  if  you 
had  to  play  doubles  with  him  !  And  he  simply 
can't  walk — gets  awfully  tired,  he  says.  /  think 
it's  his  clothes.  Gets  'em  in  London,  and  they 
are  terribly  swell  and  uncomfortable.  And  he  is 
ahvaj-s  afraid  his  collar  is  going  to  melt;  it's 
quite  painful  to  be  with  him  on  a  warm  day. 
And  I  couldn't  induce  him  to  come  out  in  my 
cat-boat  with  me.  Said  he  didn't  think  a  girl 

169 


Revenge 

could  learn  to  handle  one  with  any  degree  of 
safety.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  un- 
just? I  think  he  Avas  afraid.'" 

Miss  Atterbury  was  leaning  on  the  table  now, 
and  her  countenance  had  assumed  such  a  cheer- 
ful look  that  the  freshman  felt  quite  relieved 
and  ventured  to  pick  up  her  mandolin  again. 

"  Go  on  !  "  demanded  the  senior,  delightedly. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  anything  more,"  declared 
Miss  Thayer,  impatiently.  "  Isn't  that  enough 
for  you?  He's  no  good  at  out-door  sports,  and 
what  he  is  doing  writing  us  up  or  down  is  more 
than  I  can  imagine.  He  oughtn't  to  be  allowed 
to  do  so.  He  don't  know  anything  about  it  at 
all,  and  I  should  think  he  would  be  ashamed  of 
himself.  I  suppose  his  editor  told  him  to  do  it, 
and  he  simply  '  made  up '  and  put  down  every- 
thing he  had  ever  heard  about  us,  and  worked 
in  all  the  old  jokes  about  girls'  colleges." 

Miss  Atterbury  got  up  slowly. 

"  Well ! "  she  said,  impressively,  to  Miss 
Thayer,  "I'm  sorry  if  that  young  man  is  much 
of  a  friend  of  yours,  for  we  have  got  to  make  an 
example  of  him.  I  suppose  you  know  him  well 
enough  to  invite  him  out  here  Monday  after- 
noon?— for  you've  got  to  do  it,"  she  added,  with 
calm  decision. 

Miss  Thayer  said  she  thought  she  might  vent- 

170 


Revenge 

ure  on  that  simple  act  of  courtesy,  though  she 
could  not  quite  understand  why  Miss  Atterbury 
was  so  anxious  to  see  him  since  she  disapproved 
of  him  so  entirely ;  to  which  that  young  woman 
replied  that  she  wished  to  see  him  once,  so  that 
she  might  never  see  him  again,  and  that  the  next 
day  she  would  explain  her  plans,  in  which  she 
expected  their  hearty  co-operation. 

Mr.  Jack  Newbold  had  just  comfortably  in- 
stalled himself  in  the  1.50  B.  and  A.  train,  when 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  possibly  have 
made  a  mistake  as  to  the  time  Miss  Thayer  ex- 
pected him.  He  pulled  out  the  note  which  he 
had  received  from  her,  and  read  it  again. 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  NEWBOLD  :  I  have  been  so  in- 
terested in  what  you  have  written  about  athletics 
in  girls'  colleges  !  I  saw  the  article  in  your 
paper  and  knew  immediately  by  the  initials  that 
it  was  your  work.  Ever  since  seeing  it  I  have 
been  wishing  to  redeem  my  promise  to  have  you 
come  out  here  and  see  our  college. 

"  All  the  girls  are  anxious  to  see  you.  I  hope 
you  won't  mind  receiving  a  great  deal  of  atten- 
tion !  You  know  how  enthusiastic  and  uncon- 
ventional college  girls  are,  and  you  are  of  the 
greatest  interest  to  us  just  now.  Miss  Atter- 

171 


Revenge 

bury,  a  charming  girl,  is  especially  eager  to  meet 
you.  Don't  be  too  flattered  !  But  we  shall  all 
be  delighted  to  see  the  man  who  has  so  ably 
written  up  girls'  colleges,  and  unless  I  hear  from 
you  to  the  contrary,  shall  look  for  you  out  Mon- 
day afternoon  by  the  1.50  train. 

"Of  course  I  shall  expect  you  to  take-  dinner 
and  go  to  the  concert  in  the  evening.  I  tell  you 
this  now,  so  you  can  wear  just  the  right  'dress  ' 
— men  are  so  ridiculously  particular  about  their 
clothes ! 

"  Very  cordially  yours, 

"  ELEANOK  THAYEE." 

Mr.  Jack  Newbold  was  not  a  particularly  vain 
youth,  but  he  had  a  slight  feeling  of  satisfaction 
on  perusing  that  note  which  made  him  settle 
himself  even  more  comfortably  in  his  seat  and 
resign  himself  cheerfully  to  the  short  journey. 

"  Had  no  idea  that  article  would  make  such  a 
sensation,"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "  and  I'm 
glad  she  expects  me  by  this  train.  Of  course 
she  will  bring  her  trap  to  the  station  for  me.  I 
believe  the  college  is  quite  a  little  distance  from 
the  town.  Nice  little  trap — she  drives  well  for  a 
girl,  I  remember."  And  then  he  fell  to  wonder- 
ing whether  he  had  selected  just  the  right  things 
to  wear.  "  Girls  are  so  doucedly  critical,"  he 

172 


Revenge 

soliloquized,  and  it  had  been  rather  hard  to  de- 
cide on  just  what  would  be  in  good  taste  for  an 
afternoon  call  and  would  still  do  without  change 
for  the  concert  in  the  evening,  and  he  rather 
complimented  himself  on  his  judicious  selection, 
and  was  assuring  himself  that  the  particular 
shade  of  his  gloves  had  not  been  a  mistake,  when 
he  found  that  he  was  at  the  station. 

Miss  Thayer  welcomed  him  effusively. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't  have  the  vaguest  idea 
of  how  to  get  up  to  the  college,"  she  was  saying, 
"  and  so  I  came  down  for  you  myself.  No,  I 
didn't  bring  my  trap.  I  knew  you  would  enjoy 
the  walk  up,  and  I  wanted  to  show  you  it  myself. 
I  .remember  how  fond  you  were  of  walking,  last 
summer,"  she  added,  with  a  bright  smile  at  him. 

Newbold  stared  a  little. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  began  doubtfully;  but 
Miss  Thayer  interrupted  him  quickly — 

"  You  cannot  imagine  how  anxious  the  girls 
are  to  see  you.  Each  one  wants  to  show  you 
what  she  is  particularly  interested  in.  Really 
you  are  quite  a  martyr — I  mean  a  hero — in  our 
eyes !  We  will  go  up  this  way,"  she  ran  on. 
"  It's  a  little  longer  and  there  is  a  pretty  bad  hill, 
but  of  course  a  man  doesn't  mind  a  little  extra 
exertion,  and  it's  even  more  beautiful  than  the 
other  way." 

173 


Revenge 

Newbold  said  be  would  be  charmed  to  go  any 
way  that  Miss  Thayer  might  choose,  but  that  he 
didn't  want  to  lose  any  of  his  visit  at  the  college, 
and  that  perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  to  take  the 
short  cut.  But  Miss  Thayer  said  that  if  they 
walked  a  little  faster  they  would  get  there  just  as 
soon,  and  he  would  see  the  finer  view,  too.  So 
they  started  off  briskly,  and  Newbold  wished 
that  he  had  worn  the  other  pair  of  patent  leath- 
ers, and  finally,  when  he  felt  ready  to  drop,  and 
thought  they  must  have  walked  about  five  miles, 
and  she  told  him  they  had  only  two  more  to  go, 
he  blamed  himself  most  severely  for  not  having 
firmly  refused  anything  but  the  short  cut  and  a 
cab.  One  of  Miss  Thayer's  friends  who  met  her 
told  her  the  next  day  that  she  was  glad  to  see 
that  she  had  joined  the  Pedestrian  Club,  and 
that  she  had  often  wondered  why  she  had  not 
done  so  before. 

"  I  hardly  think  it  is  worth  while  to  go  into 
the  drawing-room  now,"  remarked  Miss  Thayer, 
argumentatively,  as  they  strolled  up  the  broad 
drive  to  the  college.  "  I  see  Miss  Atterbury 
down  there  on  the  campus  playing  tennis,  and  I 
promised  to  bring  you  to  her  immediately,"  she 
went  on.  Newbold  felt  a  horrible  inclination  to 
say  that  he  didn't  care  if  he  never  met  Miss 
Atterbury,  and  that  personally  he  would  very 

174 


"YOU  CANNOT  IMAGINE  HOW  ANXIOUS  THE  GIRLS  ARE  TO  SEE  YOU 


Revenge 

much  prefer  going  into  the  drawing-room  and 
stopping  there  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  in 
the  most  comfortable  chair  to  be  found ;  but  he 
managed  to  murmur  a  weary  assent  to  Miss 
Thayer's  proposition,  and  together  they  start- 
ed down  the  steep  hill  at  the  bottom  of  which 
stretched  the  campus.  But  he  could  not  seem  to 
keep  up  with  Miss  Thayer,  and  by  the  time  he 
had  reached  the  tennis  grounds  and  had  decided 
that  in  all  probability  his  heart  would  never 
beat  normally  again,  he  was  conscious  that  he 
was  bowing,  and  that  Miss  Atterbury,  flushed 
from  playing,  was  standing  before  him  and  was 
laughing  and  saying — "I  don't  often  give  ac- 
quaintances such  a  warm  welcome !  "  The  next 
thing  he  knew  was  that  someone  had  thrust 
a  racket  into  his  hand,  and  he  heard,  as  in  a 
dream,  Miss  Thayer  telling  her  friend  that  Mr. 
Newbold  was  a  splendid  tennis-player,  and  that 
she  would  have  to  do  her  best  to  beat  him,  but 
that  she  hoped  she  would  for  the  honor  of  the 
college.  And  then  he  found  himself,  somehow, 
walking  over  to  the  court,  and,  before  he  could 
protest,  Miss  Atterbury  was  on  the  other  side, 
and  was  asking  him  kindly  but  briskly  if  he 
were  ready  to  play.  He  thought  he  was  as  near 
ready  as  he  ever  would  be,  so  he  said  "  Play !  " 
and  waited  resignedly  for  her  serve. 

175 


Revenge 

It  was  just  after  Miss  Atterbury  Lad  piled  up 
an  appalling  number  of  games  against  him,  and 
he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  knew 
what  it  would  be  like  to  stand  fire  from  a  Krupp 
gun,  and  had  decided  that  tight  patent  leathers 
and  a  long  coat  were  not  just  what  he  would 
have  chosen  to  play  tennis  in,  that  he  saw  Miss 
Atterbury,  to  his  intense  relief,  throw  down  her 
racket  and  run  up  the  hill  a  little  way.  She 
was  back  in  an  instant  with  Miss  Thayer  and  a 
tall,  handsome  girl,  carrying  a  lot  of  golf  clubs. 
When  young  Newbold  saw  the  golf  clubs  he  felt 
so  tired  that  he  thought  he  would  sit  down  on 
the  cold  ground,  although  he  knew  how  danger- 
ous such  a  proceeding  was,  especially  when  he 
was  so  painfully  aware  of  how  hot  his  head  was 
and  how  clammy  his  linen  felt. 

"  Mr.  Newbold ! "  he  heard  Miss  Atterbury 
say,  "  I  want  to  present  you  to  Miss  Yale.  She 
is  the  captain  of  the  Golf  Club,  and  I  knew  you 
would  want  to  meet  her.  An}Tone  who  is  such 
an  authority  on  the  subject  as  you  proved  your- 
self to  be  in  that  article  would,  of  course,  want 
to  see  the  links  out  here." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you ! "  murmured  Newbold ;  "  but 
I  play  very  little,  you  know,  and  I  wouldn't  in- 
terrupt your  game  for  the  world ! " 

But  Miss  Yale  told  him  how  interested  she 

17G 


Revenge 

had  been  in  his  article,  and  that  she  wouldn't 
feel  that  she  had  done  her  duty  by  the  college 
unless  she  showed  him  the  links,  and  that  he 
really  must  come  with  them  and  tell  them 
whether  the  meadow-land  was  too  stiff  a  bit  of 
ground  to  be  gone  over.  And  so  Newbold  found 
himself  trudging  wearily  along  again  between 
Miss  Atterbury  and  Miss  Yale,  who  seemed  as 
fresh  as  though  they  hadn't  moved  that  day. 
The  links  seemed  distressingly  far  off,  and  the 
holes  absurdly  distant  from  each  other.  His 
arms  ached  so  from  tennis  that  he  could  scarcely 
hold  the  driver  Miss  Yale  gave  him. 

"  I  wish  you  would  drive  off  this  tee  once — 
men  do  that  sort  of  thing  so  much  better  than 
girls,"  she  was  saying,  admiringly.  "  They  don't 
seem  to  need  any  practice  at  all  — just  comes 
natural  to  them."  Newbold  had  a  very  distinct 
impression  that  it  hadn't  come  at  all  natural  to 
him,  and  he  would  greatly  have  preferred  not 
trying  before  Miss  Yale  and  the  knot  of  young 
women  who  had  drawn  together  at  some  little 
distance,  and  were  very  obviously  watching  him 
under  the  shallowest  pretence  of  hunting  for  a 
lost  ball.  He  felt  desperately  nervous,  and  his 
nervousness  did  not  tend  to  disappear  when  he 
made  a  frantic  try  at  the  ball,  digging  a  hole  in 
the  ground  about  a  foot  in  front  of  the  tee,  and 

177 


Revenge 

almost  hitting  Miss  Atterbury,  wlio  jumped  back 
with  a  little  cry  very  unlike  her  ordinary  calm  self. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  began,  desper- 
ately ;  but  Miss  Atterbury  assured  him  that  she 
was  all  right,  and  urged  him  to  try  again.  He 
did  so,  and  although  he  balanced  himself  cau- 
tiously on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other,  and 
snapped  at  the  ball  several  times  before  trying 
to  hit  it,  and  wobbled  his  driver  after  the  most 
approved  methods,  he  topped  his  ball  miserably, 
and  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  it  land  in 
a  most  difficult  hazard.  And  then  he  watched 
Miss  Yale  drive  off  with  a  good  backward  swing 
of  her  club,  which  hit  the  ball  "sweet  and 
clean,"  and  sent  it  a  good  ninety  yards. 

"  Of  course,  as  you  said  in  your  article,"  re- 
marked that  young  woman,  picking  up  her  clubs 
and  starting  off  energetically  after  the  ball, 
"  this  is  no  game  for  women.  It  is  pre-emi- 
nently a  man's  game,  and  a  woman's  short  col- 
lar-bone is  never  such  an  obvious  mistake  as  in 
golf.  A  man  can  do  so  much  with  a  driver  or  a 
cleek  or  a  lofter,  and  the  walking  is  so  easy  for 
him,  and  he  is  so  entirely  independent  of  the 
weather."  Newbold  murmured  inarticulate  as- 
sents as  he  walked  wearily  by  her.  He  won- 
dered if  she  could  keep  up  that  pace  all  around 
the  course,  and  he  especially  wondered  how  far 

178 


Revenge 

around  it  was.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  difficulty 
in  getting  bis  ball  out  of  the  hazard  and  lofting 
it  up  a  steep  hill,  and  he  savagely  wished  that 
he  had  joined  that  golf  club  all  his  friends  were 
urging  him  to  join,  and  decided  firmly  to  do  so 
before  he  slept  that  night,  and  to  engage  the 
professional's  services  for  himself,  and  to  prac- 
tise till  he  could  drive  a  ball  off  without  utterly 
destroying  all  the  turf  in  the  vicinity. 

They  were  on  the  second  round,  and  Newbold 
was  roughly  calculating  that  his  erratic  plays 
had  made  him  walk  about  three  miles,  and  was 
wondering  if  he  could  live  to  get  up  the  hill  in 
front  of  him,  when  he  saw  Miss  Thayer  and 
Miss  Yale,  who  were  three  holes  ahead  of  him, 
coming  back  toward  him. 

"  You  look  awfully  tired  and  hot,"  said  Miss 
Thayer,  sympathetically.  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter? Don't  you  like  golf?  But  what  an  ab- 
surd question  !  Anyone  who  could  write  the  ar- 
ticle on  athletics  you  did  must  like  it.  Only,  I 
suppose,  girls  seem  such  duffers  at  it,  to  you !  " 

Newbold  looked  at  her  sharply.  He  had  an 
uneasy  suspicion  that  she  was  laughing  at  him, 
but  he  was  too  tired  to  think  of  any  wray  of  find- 
ing out  whether  she  was  or  not,  and  so  he 
walked  on  taciturnly  and  sufferingly. 

"  I  have  such  a  nice  surprise  for  you,"  ran  on 

179 


Revenge 

Miss  Thayer.  "  But  I  won't  tell  you  what  it  is 
yet."  She  pulled  out  her  watch.  "  It  is  just  a 
quarter  to  four  now,  and  I  think  the  surprise 
will  not  be  ready  until  a  quarter  after.  Can 
you  possibly  wait  that  long  ?  " 

Newbold  said  he  thought  he  might  if  he  could 
sit  down ;  but  Miss  Thayer  said  she  disap- 
proved of  getting  over-heated  and  then  cooling 
off  rapidly,  and  that  she  thought  they  had  bet- 
ter keep  moving  until  it  was  time  to  see  the 
"  surprise."  So  they  strolled  across  the  grounds, 
and  the  two  girls  seemed  to  meet  an  astonishing 
number  of  friends,  all  going  their  way.  And 
while  Newbold  was  vaguely  wondering  what 
their  destination  might  be,  and  what  new  torture 
was  in  store  for  him,  he  heard  Miss  Yale  say,  in 
what  sounded  to  him  like  the  voice  of  an  aveng- 
ing angel : 

"I  think  we  had  better  show  Mr.  Newbold 
our  new  running-track  while  we  are  waiting. 
He  is  so  interested  in  such  things,  and  he  might 
suggest  some  improvements."  And  then  New- 
bold  felt  himself  irresistibly  compelled  to  walk 
on  farther  and  farther.  He  wondered  sadly  why 
they  thought  lie  knew  anything  about  running- 
tracks  for  girls,  and  decided  that  his  humorous 
remarks  on  the  subject  in  his  article  had  been  a 
great  mistake. 

180 


Revenge 

"  Do  you  think  it's  a  fair  track  ?  "  inquired 
Miss  Yale,  anxiously,  as  they  came  in  sight  of 
it.  "  It  is  an  eight-lap  track,  you  see,  and  of 
course  a  great  many  girls  only  go  around  four 
times  at  first — girls  get  tired  so  absurdly  easy  ! 
Now  I  suppose  men  think  nothing  of  making 
two  miles  at  a  time — it  is  just  play  for  them. 
Men  are  so  strong — that  is  their  greatest  fasci- 
nation, I  think,"  she  ran  on  enthusiastically. 
"  Haven't  you  seen  foot-ball  players  after  a  hard 
practice  game  start  off  and  run  two  miles  around 
the  track,  and  seem  to  think  absolutely  nothing 
of  it?" 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Newbold,  unwarily 
and  warmly.  "  Fellows  are  so  different  from 
girls,  you  know.  A  girl  cries  when  she's  tired, 
doesn't  she  ?  Well,  a  man  just  keeps  going,  you 
know,  and  doesn't  let  it  make  any  difference  to 
him." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  that,  Mr.  Newbold," 
said  Miss  Yale,  with  prompt  and  suspicious  sym- 
pathy, and  a  sudden  firmness  of  tone,  "  because 
I  wanted  dreadfully  to  ask  you  to  try  the  track, 
but  hated  to  do  so,  for  I  knew  you  were  tired — 
at  least  you  look  so.  But  since  you  just  keep 
going,  and  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  you, 
why  I  would  be  so  awfully  obliged  if  you  would 
run  around  three  or  four  times.  I  want  to  see 

181 


Revenge 

just  how  you  hold  your  head  and  arras.  I  don't 
believe  we  do  it  in  the  best  way,  you  know." 

It  was  a  rare  and  pleasingly  curious  sight  that 
Miss  Yale  and  Miss  Thayer  and  a  great  many 
other  young  women  assembled  near  the  track, 
apparently  by  a  strange  coincidence,  looked 
upon.  It  is  not  often  that  one  has  the  chance 
of  seeing  an  immaculately  dressed  youth,  with 
flushed  and  desperate  countenance,  tear  madly 
around  an  eight-lap  track  in  the  presence  of  a 
number  of  flatteringly  attentive  young  women. 
It  occurred  to  Newbold  as  he  dashed  around 
and  around  that  it  would  be  far  preferable  to 
keep  going  until  he  fainted  away  or  dropped 
dead,  than  to  stop  and  encounter  the  remarks 
and  glances  of  those  young  women.  They  would 
at  least  feel  sorry  for  him  in  that  case,  he  thought, 
gloomily.  But  even  that  modest  and  simple  de- 
sire was  not  granted  him.  As  he  started  on  the 
fifth  lap  he  heard  Miss  Yale  call  to  him  to  stop. 
He  had  a  wild  inclination  to  pay  no  attention 
to  her,  but  to  keep  going  on  and  on,  but  as  he 
got  nearer  he  saw  her  step  out  toward  him  and 
put  up  a  warning  hand. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said,  warmly.  "  I 
think  we  have  all  had  a  lesson  in  running  which 
we  shall  not  forget  soon.  I  hope  you  are  not 
tired?  "  she  went  on,  anxiously. 

182 


Revenge 

Newbold  said,  "Oh,  no!"  but  he  felt  very 
tired  indeed.  His  feet  ached  horribly  and  his 
head  felt  hot  and  dizzy,  and  there  were  queer, 
sharp  pains  shooting  through  his  body  which 
made  him  think  forebodingly  of  pneumonia. 

"  The  surprise  is  ready — Miss  Atterbury  is 
going  to  have  the  crew  out  for  your  especial 
benefit ! "  went  on  Miss  Yale,  triumphantly. 
"  Don't  you  feel  complimented  ?  And  you  are 
to  pull  Miss  Thayer  and  myself  about  while  they 
go  through  a  little  practice  for  you.  Not  much, 
you  know,  but  just  enough  to  show  you  the  stroke 
and  speed  we  get.  The  boat  is  a  beauty — but 
then,  of  course,  you  know  so  much  more  about 
it  than  we  do  !  I  imagine  from  your  article  that 
you  must  pull  an  oar  capitally.  Miss  Thayer 
says  a  cat-boat  is  your  especial  hobby,  though." 

"  Did  Miss  Thayer  say  that  ?  "  began  New- 
bold,  hotly.  "Beastly  things,  I  think — hate 
'em!" 

Miss  Yale  smiled  incredulously  and  brightly 
at  him. 

"  How  modest  you  are !  "  she  said,  admiringly. 
<c  Ah  !  there  is  Miss  Atterbury ! " 

Newbold  saw  some  one  waving  frantically  at 
them. 

"  Come  on  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Yale  ;  "  wo 
want  to  see  them  start  off — that's  the  best  part." 

183 


Revenge 

Newbold  never  remembered  afterward  how  he 
got  across  the  intervening  space,  or  how  he  got 
into  a  boat  with  the  two  young  women.  The 
first  thing  he  heard  was  Miss  Atterbury  asking 
him  anxiously  how  he  liked  the  new  sliding-seats, 
and  what  he  thought  of  the  proportions  of  the 
boat,  and  about  outriggers  in  general,  and  where 
he  thought  they  could  be  built  best  and  cheap- 
est. Newbold  felt  about  as  capable  of  instruct- 
ing her  on  such  points  as  of  judging  the  pictures 
at  a  Salon  exhibit,  and  he  longed,  with  a  long- 
ing born  of  utter  exhaustion  and  desperation,  to 
get  away.  As  he  wearily  pulled  the  heavy,  un- 
wieldy boat  about  after  the  light  practice-barge, 
which  kept  an  appalling  distance  ahead  of  him, 
ho  decided  within  himself  that  the  physical  de- 
velopment of  women  had  been  carried  to  an  ab- 
surd and  alarming  extent,  and  that  men  simply 
were  not  in  it  with  them  when  it  came  to  endur- 
ance and  enthusiasm,  and  that  he  had  made  the 
mistake  of  his  life  when  he  wrote  that  article  on 
athletics  in  girls'  colleges,  and  that  his  chief 
might  talk  until  he  was  blue  in  the  face  before 
he  would  ever  consent  again  to  write  about  any- 
thing of  which  he  knew  so  little. 

They  were  very  disappointed  when  he  told 
them  firmly  that  he  could  not  stay  to  dinner  or 
to  the  concert,  but  that  he  had  a  pressing  en- 

184 


Revenge 

gagement  that  would  take  liim  back  to  the  city. 
And  they  said  that  there  were  still  the  Swedish 
gymnastics  and  basket-ball  and  pole-vaulting  to 
see,  and  that  they  were  afraid  he  had  not  enjoyed 
himself  or  he  would  have  got  rid  of  that  engage- 
ment in  some  way;  but  he  assured  them  im- 
pressively that  he  had  never  spent  a  more  in- 
structive or  peculiarly  interesting  afternoon  in 
his  life. 

Miss  Thayer  took  him  back  to  the  station  in 
her  trap,  and  remarked  011  how  much  shorter 
the  way  seemed  with  a  good  horse ;  and  when 
she  bade  him  good-by  she  told  him  that  she 
would  be  looking  out  for  another  article  in  his 
paper,  and  that  she  would  be  much  disappointed 
if  his  visit  had  not  inspired  him  to  write  some- 
thing. To  which  Newbold  replied  that  that  was 
his  pressing  engagement — he  was  going  back  to 
the  city  to  write  another  article  on  athletics  in 
girls'  colleges,  and  that  he  thought  it  would  be 
different  and  better  than  the  former  one,  but  that 
ho  would  not  put  his  initials  to  it  this  time. 


185 


THE  COLLEGE  BEAUTY 


THE  COLLEGE  BEAUTY 

IT  was  a  sort  of  farewell  party,  and  the  young 
woman  who  was  going  away  and  who  was 
the  object  of  so  much  solicitude  and  tender 
concern  was  sitting,  enshrined  as  it  were,  on  a 
divan  covered  with  a  Navahoe  Indian  blanket 
and  surrounded  by  innumerable  cushions,  while 
the  rest  hung  about  her  or  took  up  precarious 
attitudes  on  the  table  in  dangerous  proximity 
to  the  student  lamps,  or  settled  themselves  in 
steamer-chairs,  or  sat  upon  the  tiger-skin  on  the 
floor.  That  is,  the  American  girls  did ;  Kan 
Ato,  the  pretty  Japanese  who  had  come  arrayed 
in  a  gorgeous  new  kimono — dull  blue  embroid- 
ered splendidly  in  silver — sat  upright  and  very 
stiffly  in  the  window-seat  with  the  dark  red  of 
the  curtains  showing  off  her  jet  black  hair  and 
her  gown  wonderfully  well ;  while  the  tall  Scotch 
girl,  a  cousin  of  the  guest  of  honor,  had  trust- 
ed her  generous  proportions  to  the  only  large, 
comfortable  American  chair  in  the  room. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  noise  and  confusion 
and  questioning,  and  Miss  Lavington,  as   she 

189 


The  College  Beauty 


leaned  back  against  her  cushions,  half  wished 
that  after  all  the  doctor  had  not  let  her  come. 
She  had  been  very  ill — a  short,  sharp  attack  of 
typhoid — and  although  she  had  enjoyed  tremen- 
dously the  wine  jelly,  and  the  violets,  and  the 
hushed,  anxious  tones  of  her  friends  as  they  in- 
quired after  her  at  the  infirmary,  and  the  many 
remarks  about  her  good  qualities  and  how  clever 
she  was  in  Conic  Sections — "just  as  if  she  were 
really  dead,"  as  she  said — still  she  felt  rather 
too  weak  properly  to  appreciate  her  friends'  en- 
thusiastic sympathy  at  such  close  range.  And 
then  the  thought  of  going  away — and  so  far 
away — had  made  her  feel  blue  and  dispirited. 

She  was  a  very  pretty  English  girl,  whose 
father — a  colonel  in  an  Indian  regiment — had 
sent  her  to  America  in  the  care  of  a  sister  of 
his  who  had  moved  to  "  the  States ; "  and  so  it 
had  come  about  that,  instead  of  being  a  Girtpn 
or  Newnhani  girl,  she  had  matriculated  at  this 
American  college.  And  now  her  father  had 
written  decisively  for  her  to  come  out  and  join 
him  in  India,  and  her  college  friendships  and 
ties  were  all  to  be  broken.  He  had  been  writ- 
ing about  it  for  some  time,  and  her  illness  had 
finally  precipitated  the  affair.  She  had  only 
waited  until  she  grew  strong  enough  to  start, 
and  the  following  day  had  been  decided  upon. 

190 


The  College  Beauty 


The  long  sea-voyage  would  be  the  very  thing 
for  her,  the  doctor  had  thought. 

She  was  trying  to  explain  to  the  interested 
young  women  just  what  route  she  would  take, 
and  was  rapidly  filling  their  souls  with  envy  at 
the  familiar  mention  of  Brindisi  and  Cairo  and 
Aden,  when  there  was  a  knock  and  a  quick 
opening  of  the  door  and  a  girl  came  into  the 
room.  She  was  a  very  beautiful  young  woman, 
and  when  she  sat  down  on  the  divan  beside 
Miss  Lavington  she  seemed  suddenly  to  absorb 
all  the  attention  and  interest,  and  to  become  in 
some  magical  way  the  guest  of  honor  and  centre 
of  attraction.  She  met  with  a  very  enthusiastic 
reception,  for  she  had  that  afternoon  gained  the 
tennis  championship  for  her  class — she  was  a 
senior  —  and  had  not  yet  changed  her  white 
flannel  suit  with  scarlet  sumach  leaves  worked 
on  it,  and  as  she  dragged  off  her  soft  cap,  one 
could  see  that  her  hair  still  lay  in  damp  curls 
upon  her  forehead. 

After  she  had  entered  the  room  one  would 
have  realized  that  they  had  really  been  waiting 
for  her.  Her  mere  presence  seemed  to  make  a 
difference.  It  was  this  magnetic  quality  which 
rendered  her  so  irresistible  and  all  adverse 
criticism  of  her  so  absurd.  People  might  differ 
as  to  her  beauty — there  were  some  indeed,  who 

191 


The  College  Beauty 


said  that  she  was  too  large,  or  that  her  eyes 
were  not  very  expressive,  or  that  her  mouth  was 
too  small,  but  they  all  fell  under  her  influence 
in  some  remarkable  way,  and  were  very  much 
flattered  when  she  asked  them  to  drive  with  her, 
and  never  failed  to  point  her  out  to  their  friends 
as  "  the  College  Beauty,  you  know  ; "  and  even 
those  who  honestly  wondered  how  she  ever  got 
through  her  examinations  were  forced  to  admit 
that  she  had  a  great  deal  of  natural  talent,  which 
she  did  not  always  care  to  exercise.  She  was 
a  fine  tennis  player  too,  using  either  hand 
equally  well,  and  when  the  Tennis  Association 
got  itself  into  debt  and  she  saved  the  situa- 
tion by  beguiling,  in  some  inexplicable  way, 
the  famous  musical  organization  of  a  cer- 
tain university  into  giving  a  concert  for  its 
benefit,  her  popularity  reached  its  climax.  To 
the  less  sought-after  girls,  her  composure  and 
ease  of  manner  while  surrounded  by  aii  admir- 
ing circle  of  college  men  was  nothing  short  of 
marvellous,  and  the  recklessly  generous  disposal 
which  she  made  of  these  youths  to  her  less  at- 
tractive friends  seemed  to  betoken  a  social  prod- 
igality little  short  of  madness. 

Miss  Lavington  looked  at  her  imploringly. 

"Make  them  keep  quiet,  won't  you?"  she 
said.  The  Beauty  looked  around  her — "  Are  you 

192 


The  College  Beauty 


trying  to  make  her  ill  again,  so  she  can't  go  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Her  words  had  the  desired  effect,  and  the 
girl  who  had  been  twanging  abstractedly  at  a 
banjeurine  put  it  down. 

"  She  oughtn't  to  leave ! "  she  declared,  plain- 
tively. "  It's  a  shame !  Here  we  are,  just  begin- 
ning the  semestre,  and  she's  only  half  through 
her  college  course  anyway,  and  just  because  her 
father  wants  her  she  has  to  give  up  everything 
and  go." 

"  Yes,  and  you  know  she'll  be  sure  to  have 
jungle-fever  or  get  bitten  by  a  cobra  or  some- 
thing, and  die,"  suggested  someone  cheerful- 
ly, if  a  trifle  vaguely. 

The  girl  lying  on  the  tiger-skin  looked  up. 

"  I  know  why  her  father  wants  her,"  she 
began  calmly.  "  There  is  an  officer  —  young, 
handsome,  well  born,  a  fine  place  in  Surrey  or 
Devon  or  Kent,  been  in  the  family  for  genera- 
tions, old  uncle,  no  children — just  the  thing  for 
her.  Her  father  will  take  her  up  to  some  place 
in  the  Himalayas  to  spend  the  summer,  and  he 
will  arrange  for  the  handsome,  young,  etc.,  offi- 
cer to  be  there,  and  next  fall  we  will  receive  the 
cards.  It  sounds  just  like  one  of  Kipling's 
stories,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

They  were  all  laughing  by  the  time  she  had 

193 


The  College  Beauty 


finished,  but  The  Beauty,  looking  at  the  girl  be- 
side her,  suddenly  stopped  smiling.  There  was 
a  conscious  flush  on  Miss  Lavington's  face  which 
set  her  to  thinking,  and  then  she  glanced  over  to 
the  big  Scotch  girl  and  waited  an  instant. 

"  Tell  us  all  about  it,"  she  said  finally  to  Miss 
Lavington.  The  girl  looked  up  quickly  and 
then  dropped  her  eyes  again. 

"  There  isn't  much  to  tell,"  she  began.  The 
others  were  listening  now.  Even  Kan  Ato, 
smiling  in  her  pensive,  oriental  way,  leaned  far 
forward  so  as  not  to  lose  a  word. 

"  He  isn't  rich  and  he  hasn't  any  place  in 
Surrey — or  anywhere  else  that  I  know  of,  except 
perhaps  in  India,"  she  went  on.  "  But  he  is 
young  and  handsome.  We  used  to  know  each 
other  when  we  were  children — he  is  a  sort  of 
cousin — but  I  haven't  seen  him  for  years.  We 
used  to  be  very  much  in  love  with  each  other." 
She  smiled.  "  My  father  writes  me  that  he  says 
he  is  still  in  love  with  me,  and  so — perhaps  we 
are  to  be  married." 

"  I  knew  it,"  sighed  the  girl  on  the  tiger-rug, 
in  a  satisfied  sort  of  way. 

The  Beauty  looked  at  the  English  girl  curious- 
ly. "  And  you  haven't  seen  him  for  years  ?  and 
yet  you  think  of  marrying  him!  How  do  you 
know  you  will  love  him  now  ? — you  are  both 

194 


The  College  Beauty 


changed — you  may  be  two  totally  different 
people  from  the  children  who  fell  in  love." 
She  had  spoken  vehemently  and  quickly,  and 
Miss  Lavington  gazed  at  her  with  languid  sur- 
prise. 

"  You  are  not  in  love  with  him  yourself  ?  "  she 
said,  smilingly. 

The  girl  made  a  quick,  impatient  gesture. 

"  I  am  speaking  seriously,"  she  said.  "  You 
are  several  years  younger  than  I  am,  and  you 
don't  know  what  you  are  doing.  Don't  let  your 
father — don't  let  anyone — persuade  you  to  bind 
yourself  to  a  man  you  don't  know,  whose  life 
has  been  so  vitally  different  from  your  own  as  to 
render  the  possibility  of  sympathy  between  you 
very  slight." 

Miss  Lavington  looked  at  her  rather  coldly. 

"  You  are  interesting  yourself  unnecessarily," 
she  said  ;  "  I  loved  him  not  so  many  years  ago 
— it  cannot  be  possible  that  so  short  a  time 
would  change  us  completely." 

The  Beauty  leaned  her  head  back  with  sud- 
den wearied  look  on  her  face.  "  A  few  years  at 
our  time  of  life  makes  all  the  difference  in  the 
world,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  What  pleased  and 
interested  and  fascinated  us  at  eighteen  might 
very  possibly  disappoint  and  disgust  us  at 
twenty  or  twenty  -  two.  I  do  not  mean  to 

195 


The  College  Beauty 


preach,"  she  said,  smiling  deprecatingly  and 
turning  to  the  rest,  "  but  you  know  as  well  as  I 
what  an  influence  this  college  life  has  on  us,  and 
how  hard  it  is  to  go  back  to  former  conditions. 
If  we  get  stronger  here  we  also  get  less  adapt- 
able. We  are  all  affected  by  the  earnestness 
and  the  culture  and  advancement  of  the  life  wo 
lead  here  for  four  years,  whether  we  will  or  no, 
and  it  is  very  hard  to  go  back ! " 

They  were  all  looking  at  her  in  amazement. 
The  Beauty  was  not  much  given  to  that  sort  of 
thing.  She  stopped  abruptly  as  if  herself  aware 
of  the  sensation  she  was  creating,  and  laughed 
rather  constrainedly. 

"  Don't  marry  your  handsome  officer  unless 
you  are  in  love  with  him  !  "  she  said  insistingly 
still  to  the  girl  beside  her.  "  Don't  mistake  the 
childish  affection  you  felt  for  him  for  something 
deeper.  You  have  your  whole  life  before  you — 
don't  spoil  it  by  precipitation  or  a  false  gener- 
osity or  a  reckless  passion !  "  There  was  an 
anxious,  troubled  look  in  her  eyes. 

The  girl  still  stretched  out  on  the  tiger-skin 
glanced  up  again  at  The  Beauty.  "  I  seem  to 
have  started  a  subject  in  which  you  are  deeply 
interested,"  she  said  gayly  to  her.  "And  one 
in  which  you  have  had  enormous  experience 
too.  Do  you  know  you  have  an  almost  un- 

196 


The  College  Beauty 


canny  way  of  fascinating  every  man  who  comes 
near  you.  It's  a  sure  thing.  None  of  the  rest 
of  us  have  a  chance.  I  believe  you  could  many 
half  a  dozen  or  so  at  any  time  that  you  would 
take  the  trouble  to  say  '  yes  ' ! " 

The  girl  addressed  looked  openly  amused — 
"  Please  take  a  few  off  your  list,"  she  said. 
But  the  other  refused  to  notice  her  remark  and 
ran  on  in  her  light  way. 

"And  they  are  all  so  nice  too — it  is  really 
hard  to  choose,  but  I  think  on  the  whole  I  pre- 
fer a  certain  young  man  who  shall  be  nameless. 
Now,  would  you  call  his  devotion  to  yourself 
'mad  precipitation  or  a  false  generosity  or  a 
reckless  passion  ? ' '  She  moved  herself  lazily 
over  the  yellow  skin  until  her  head  rested  against 
the  girl's  knee. 

"And  he  is  such  a  nice,  eligible  youth  too. 
I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  spoil  his  life  by  re- 
fusing him.  Only  think  how  lovely  it  would  be 
to  have  one's  father-in-law  representing  the 
majesty  of  these  United  States  at  an  Emperor's 
court,"  she  went  on,  turning  gayly  to  the  others. 
"  And  he  is  so  handsome  and  clever !  He  will 
be  representing  Uncle  Sam  himself  some  day, 
and  she  will  be  reading  up  the  rules  of  court 
etiquette  and  receiving  invitations  from  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  to  dine  with  the  Queen,  and  fuming 

197 


The  College  Beauty 


because  the  Grand  Duchess  of  something  or 
other  has  the  right  to  walk  in  to  dinner  before 
her."  She  was  not  noticing  the  girl's  significant 
silence.  "  Of  course  he  is  just  the  man  for  you 
— you  wouldn't  make  any  but  a  brilliant  match, 
you  know,  with  your  beauty  and  society  manner. 
But  just  for  the  present — well,  next  winter  you 
will  debut,  and  you  will  be  much  talked  about, 
and  the  youth  will  not  be  with  his  father  at  the 
European  capital,  but  will  be  very  much  en  evi- 
dence here,  and  then — after  Easter  we  shall  get 
your  cards !  " 

She  twisted  her  head  around,  smiling,  so  as  to 
get  a  look  at  the  girl's  face  above  her.  It  wore 
so  grave  and  hopeless  an  expression  that  she 
gave  a  little  ciy. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  confusedly,  "  but  you 
do  love  him,  don't  you  ?  " 

The  Beauty  turned  her  eyes  away  and  shook 
herself  slightly,  as  if  awakening  from  a  dream. 

"  As  confession  seems  to  be  the  order  of  the 
hour,"  she  said  in  a  dull  tone,  and  smiling  pe- 
culiarly, "  I  don't  mind  owning  that  I  do  love 
him  very  much." 

She  got  up  abruptly  and  moved  toward  the 
door  amid  a  chorus  of  protests,  but  she  would 
not  stay.  At  the  threshold  she  turned  to  Miss 


Lavington. 


198 


Tlje  College  Beauty 


"  Send  your  things  down  by  the  coach,"  she 
said.  "  If  you  will  let  me  I  will  be  glad  to  drive 
you  to  the  station  myself  to-morrow." 

When  she  got  to  her  own  study  she  found  a 
letter  thrust  under  the  door  with  the  familiar 
number  of  her  room  scrawled  upon  it  in  pencil. 
She  picked  it  up,  and  as  she  looked  at  the  ad- 
dress an  expression  of  profound  dislike  and 
weariness  came  into  her  face.  She  opened  the 
door  slowly  and  put  the  letter  down  upon  her 
desk,  looking  at  it  thoughtfully  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. The  handwriting  was  irresolute  and 
boyish.  She  shivered  slightly  as  she  took  the 
letter  up  with  sudden  resolution  and  tore  it 
open.  As  she  sat  there  and  read  it  a  look  of 
hatred  and  disgust  and  utter  hopelessness, 
strangely  at  variance  with  her  usual  brilliant  ex- 
pression, settled  harshly  upon  her  lovely,  young 
face. 

"MY  DEAREST  WIFE,"  it  ran,  "Forgive  me! 
but  this  is  about  the  only  luxury  I  indulge  in ! 
—  calling  you  in  my  letters  what  I  dare  not 
call  you  as  yet  before  the  world. 

"  I  am  in  a  retrospective  mood  to-night,  and 
feel  like  writing  all  sorts  of  things  which  I  am 
afraid  you  won't  much  like.  Do  you  know  I 
think  that  college  is  doing  you  harm !  Don't 

109 


The  College  Beauty 


get  angry  at  this,  but  sometimes  I'm  afraid  you 
have  repented  of  our  boy  and  girl  runaway 
match;  but  God  knows  I  haven't,  and  I'm  glad 
I  didn't  go  to  college  but  came  out  West  and  went 
to  work  for  us  both.  I  haven't  succeeded  very 
brilliantly  and  may  be  the  life  has  roughened  me 
a  bit,  but  I  guess  you  can  have  the  best  there 
is  out  here,  and  I  am  still  as  devoted  to  you  as 
in  those  old  days  of  the  summer  before  you 
went  to  that  confounded  (excuse  me!)  college, 
when  you  were  just  eighteen  and  I  barely  twenty- 
one.  How  interminably  long  four  years  seemed 
to  wait  then !  But  it  was  a  case  of  getting  mar- 
ried secretly  and  of  waiting,  or  of  not  getting 
you  at  all.  Sometimes  I  can  hardly  stand  it, 
and  I'd  come  back  now  and  take  you  away,  if 
I  wasn't  so  afraid  of  that  blessed  old  father  of 
yours — but  I'm  just  as  big  a  coward  as  I  was 
three  years  ago,  when  I  couldn't  screw  up  cour- 
age enough  to  go  to  him  and  tell  him  that  he'd 
have  to  relinquish  his  pet  scheme  of  sending  his 
daughter  to  college,  for  she  belonged  to  me. 
"Whew!  what  a  scene  we'd  have  had!  It  was 
best  to  wait,  I  suppose. 

"  After  all,  only  a  year  and  then  I  can  claim 
you !    Have  you  changed  any  ?    I'm  afraid  you're 
way  ahead  of  me  now.     I  always  had  an  uncom- 
fortable suspicion  that  you  were  very  much  my 
200 


The  College  Beauty 


superior,  and  I  have  half  fancied  that  perhaps 
you  only  loved  me  because  I  was  so  madly — so 
passionately  in  love  with  you.  Did  I  over-per- 
suade you  ?  have  you  ceased  to  love  me  ?  Some- 
times I  get  half  sick  with  fear.  You  are  all  I 
have  !  But  after  all  I  feel  safe  enough — I  know 
you  too  well  not  to  know  that  you  will  never 
break  your  promise — even  one  you  hate.  But 
you  know  I'll  never  hold  you  to  that  marriage 
— though  it  was  all  valid  enough — if  you  don't 
want  to  be  held.  I  can  simply  blow  my  good- 
for-nothing  brains  out. 

"  I  won't  write  any  more  to-night.  There  is 
so  much  swearing  and  noise  down  in  the  street 
that  I  can  hardly  think ;  besides  I  don't  feel  just 
like  it,  and  lately  your  letters  have  only  irritated 
me.  But  I  won't  complain,  for  I  know  how  gen- 
erously you  have  acted  and  what  brilliant  pros- 
pects you  have  given  up  for  my  precious  self ! 
"Devotedly  yours  and  only  yours, 

"  G.  G.  B." 


201 


A  TELEPHONED  TELEGRAM 


A  TELEPHONED  TELEGRAM 

WHEN  Miss  Eva  Hungerford  married  Stan- 
hope there  was  one  young  lady  intense- 
ly glad  of  it,  although  it  was  whispered  that 
there  were  also  two  or  three  who  were  quite  the 
contrary.  But  Mrs.  Eenf ord  Phillips — once  Miss 
Violet  Featherstone — had  particular  reasons  for 
rejoicing,  and  she  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Miss 
Hungerford  when  she  heard  of  the  engagement, 
and  said  that  she  hoped  "by-gones  would  be 
by-gones  now,  and  that  she  was  sure  her  friend 
would  be  a  broader-minded  and  more  perfect 
woman,  if  that  were  possible,  now  that  she  was 
going  to  have  the  additional  experience  of  get- 
ting married." 

Miss  Hungerford  wrote  her  a  most  cordial  re- 
ply, and  the  two  girls,  for  several  years  slightly 
estranged,  became  again  the  friends  they  had 
been  during  the  first  three  years  of  their  college 
life. 

The  blow  had  fallen  very  suddenly,  and  Miss 
Hungerford  had  found  it  hard  to  forgive  what 
she  called,  in  her  heart,  her  friend's  tacit  deceit 

205 


A  Telephoned  Telegram 


and  culpable  silence.  But,  as  she  wrote  in 
her  reply  to  Mrs.  Phillips's  letter,  her  opinions 
had  undergone  a  decided  change,  and  she  felt 
that  perhaps  she  had  been  a  little  hard  on  her 
friend  and  had  not  understood  her  feelings 
and  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  her, 
and  she  acknowledged  that  circumstances  might 
materially  alter  one's  views  and  actions.  And 
Miss  Featherstone,  who  had  been  the  most  talked 
about  girl  in  college  during  the  last  seniestre  of 
her  junior  year,  and  who  had  suffered  acutely 
under  Miss  Hungerford's  indifferently  concealed 
displeasure  and  surprise  at  her  conduct,  replied 
that  now  she  could  be  truly  happy  in  her  hus- 
band and  her  home,  and  insisted  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Stanhope  should  visit  her  in  the  Berkshire 
Hills  that  summer. 

This  they  did,  and  though,  of  course,  each 
thought  her  husband  much  the  handsomer  and 
more  distinguished-looking,  still  they  were  very 
affectionate  toward  each  other,  and  planned  to 
be  at  Cowes  together  the  next  summer  for  the 
yachting. 

As  has  been  said,  their  estrangement  hap- 
pened very  suddenly  and  came  about  by  an  un- 
fortunate occurrence  one  morning  in  the  office 
of  the  college. 

Anyone  who  has  never  had  the  privilege  of 

206 


A  Telephoned  Telegram 


being  in  that  office  on  a  Monday  morning,  just 
after  chapel,  can  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  pande- 
monium. The  whole  seven  hundred  students 
seem  to  be  revolving  about.  There  are  the 
young  women  standing  around,  waiting  to  take 
the  next  train  into  Boston,  not  having  been  able 
to  go  on  the  early  express  because  they  had  fool- 
ishly forgotten  to  get  a  leave  of  absence  on  the 
Saturday  previous,  and  who  are  furtively  trying 
not  to  see  their  friends  who  are  not  going  on  at 
all,  so  as  to  keep  from  having  to  attend  to  their 
commissions  ;  and  there  is  the  girl  who  is  tele- 
phoning for  roses  to  wear  at  the  concert  that 
night,  and  those  who  are  booking  boats  and  ten- 
nis courts,  and  others  reading  bulletins ;  and 
when  there  is  an  extra  commotion  and  the  crowd 
is  forced  back  a  little  to  let  the  cords  be  pulled 
up  around  the  desk  so  as  to  clear  a  space  ;  and 
when  the  carrier  comes  in  and  tumbles  the  big 
mail-bags  into  the  middle  of  it  with  one  hand 
and  unlocks  them  at  apparently  the  same  instant 
with  the  other  ;  and  when  about  ten  young  wom- 
en fall  upon  the  bags  and  rend  their  contents 
from  them,  and  begin  to  assort  and  number  and 
tie  up  the  letters,  all  the  time  besieged  by  their 
excluded  friends  to  give  them  their  mail  on  the 
spot  as  they  are  going  away,  the  noise  and  ex- 
citement reach  a  climax. 

207 


But  it  is  all  very  pleasant  and  enlivening  ex- 
cept the  telephone  bell,  which  rings  constantly 
and  is  wearing  on  the  nerves.  It  rings  not  only 
for  all  telephone  messages  but  for  all  telegrams, 
for  the  college,  being  a  mile  or  so  from  the  tele- 
graph station,  everything  is  simply  telephoned 
up  to  save  delays,  and  that  a  long  and  continuous 
procession  of  small  messenger  boys  may  not  be 
forever  circulating  between  the  college  and  the 
station. 

It  was  this  unfortunate  custom  of  telephoning 
telegrams,  unknown  of  course  to  the  majority  of 
outsiders,  that  precipitated  the  affair.  On  that 
particular  Monday  morning,  when  the  confusion 
in  the  office  was  at  its  worst,  the  telephone  bell 
suddenly  rang  unusually  loudly  and  long,  and 
the  nervous  Freshman  on  duty  jumped  toward  it 
with  a  warning  motion  to  the  rest  to  keep  quiet. 

"  Hush  !  it's  a  telegram,"  she  said  in  a  moment, 
and  instantly  there  was  silence,  for  a  telegram  is 
always  dreaded  where  there  are  so  many  to 
whom  it  could  bear  ill  news.  She  reached  for  a 
pad  of  paper  and  a  pencil  to  take  it  down. 
From  the  other  end  came  "  Important.  Kepeat 
slowly  as  I  deliver  it."  The  nervous  Freshman 
said  "  All  right,"  and  braced  herself  against  the 
support  to  write. 

"  To  Miss  Yiolet  Featherstone."     The  docile 

308 


A  Telephoned  Telegram 


Freshman  repeated  it  and  then  said  "Wait!" 
and  looked  around. 

"If  Miss  Featherstone  is  here,". she  remarked, 
"  she  can  come  to  the  telephone  ;  "  but  someone 
volunteered  the  information  that  Miss  Feather- 
stone  had  left  by  the  early  train  for  Boston,  and 
the  telephoning  proceeded. 

"  My  darling — "  the  Freshman  gasped  a  little 
and  then  repeated  slowly  "  My  darling."  There 
was  some  suppressed  commotion  for  an  instant 
among  the  crowd  around  the  doors,  and  the  two 
at  the  telephone  went  at  it  again. 

"  I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  three  days." 
"  I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  three  days," 
mumbled  the  Freshman. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Eenford  Phillips." 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  B,enf ord  Phillips." 

When  Miss  Featherstone  reached  the  college 
that  afternoon  she  thought  she  detected  a  sup- 
pressed excitement  about  the  whole  place, 
though  she  felt  rather  too  tired  to  think  much 
about  it,  but  when  she  got  to  her  room  she  found 
a  telephone  message  for  her  which  made  her 
sink  weakly  into  a  chair. 

An  appalling  vision  of  the  consequences  rose 
before  her.  She  tried  to  think  connectedly,  but 
the  effort  was  too  much.  Her  only  thought  was 

209 


A  Telephoned  Telegram 


of  the  effect  it  would  have  on  her  friend  Eva 
Hungerford.  She  would  go  to  her  immediately 
and  find  out  how  much  she  knew. 

As  she  went  along  the  corridors  more  than 
one  acquaintance  smiled  knowingly  at  her,  but 
she  only  hurried  on.  When  she  reached  Miss 
Hungerford's  rooms,  she  found  that  young  lady 
looking  dejectedly  out  of  the  windows.  Her 
melancholy  turned  to  stony  haughtiness,  how- 
ever, when  Miss  Featherstone  approached  her 
tremblingly. 

"  Yes,  the  whole  college  knew  of  it,"  she  as- 
sured her.  "  The  message  had  been  telephoned 
up  when  the  office  was  crowded,  and  by  this 
time  everyone  was  aAvare  of  what  her  best  friend 
had  not  known." 

Miss  Featherstone  rebelled  a  little  under  Miss 
Hungerford's  chilling  glance  and  attempted  to 
explain,  but  her  friend  was  very  sad  and  firm, 
and  said  she  did  not  see  how  any  explanation 
could  do  away  with  the  fact  that  Yiolet  Feath- 
erstone had  broken  the  solemn  vow  they  had 
made  together  never  to  marry,  but  to  devote 
themselves  to  serious  study  as  a  life-work.  But 
when  Miss  Featherstone  quite  broke  down  un- 
der her  friend's  disapprobation,  Miss  Hunger- 
ford  relented  a  little  and  asked  her  if  she  were 
really  so  fond  of  Benford  Phillips,  and  if  she 
210 


A  Telephoned  Telegram 


thought  life  with  him  in  Morristown  would  com- 
pensate her  for  the  loss  of  Oxford  and  the  Bod- 
leian. Miss  Featherstone  cried  a  little  at  that, 
and  said  she  thought  it  would,  and  that  she  had 
started  a  hundred  times  to  tell  her  dearest  friend 
about  her  engagement,  but  she  knew  how  she 
thought  about  such  things,  and  how  she  would 
lose  her  respect  for  allowing  anything  to  inter- 
fere with  their  plans  for  mental  advancement. 
And  Miss  Hungerford  only  sighed  and  wrote 
that  night  to  her  mother  that  another  of  her  il- 
lusions had  been  dispelled,  but  that  she  was 
firmer  than  ever  in  her  determination  to  make 
something  of  herself. 

Miss  Featherstone  did  not  return  for  her  de- 
gree, but  had  a  pretty  church  wedding  that  sum- 
mer at  Stockbridge,  and  Miss  Hungerford  sent 
her  a  very  handsome  wedding  gift,  but  refused  to 
be  present  at  the  marriage.  They  did  not  write 
to  each  other  much  the  next  year,  and  Miss  Hun- 
gerford worked  so  hard  that  the  Faculty  had  to 
interfere,  and  when  she  left  college  with  a  B.  S. 
degree,  smiling  sadly  and  saying  that  she  would 
be  a  bachelor  as  well  as  an  old  maid,  everybody 
remarked  what  a  superior  girl  she  was  to  her 
friend  Violet  Featherstone. 


211 


"MISS  ROSE" 


"MISS   ROSE" 

SHE  was  always  called  that,  and  there  were 
very  few  of  the  seven  hundred  students 
who  really  knew  or  cared  whether  it  was  her 
little  name  or  her  family  name.  The  uncer- 
tainty about  it  seemed  particularly  appropriate 
someway  —  her  whole  personality  was  vague. 

That  is  at  the  beginning ;  later 

For  the  first  month  she  passed  comparatively 
unnoticed.  In  the  wild  confusion  of  setting  up 
household  gods  and  arranging  schedules,  hope- 
less as  Chinese  puzzles,  of  finding  out  where  the 
Greek  instructors  can  see  you  professionally,  and 
when  the  art  school  is  open,  and  why  you  can- 
not take  books  from  the  library,  and  when  the 
elevator  runs,  anyone  less  remarkable-looking 
than  an  American  Indian  or  the  Queen  of  the 
Sandwich  Islands  is  apt  to  be  overlooked.  But 
after  the  preliminary  scuffle  is  over  and  there  is 
a  lull  in  the  storm,  and  one  begins  to  remember 
vaguely  having  seen  that  dress  or  face  before 
somewhere,  and  when  one  no  longer  turns  up  at 
the  history  or  art  rooms  instead  of  the  chemical 

215 


"Miss  Rose" 

laboratories,  and  when  one  ceases  to  take  the  as- 
sistant professor  of  physics  for  the  girl  who  sat 
next  to  you  in  the  trigonometry  recitation — then 
the  individual  comes  in  for  her  share  of  atten- 
tion. 

"  Miss  Rose "  possibly  got  more  than  her 
share.  Curious  young  women  soon  began  to 
nudge  each  other,  and  ask  in  whispers  who  she 
was.  And  just  at  first  there  were  covert  smiles 
and  a  little  cruelly  good-natured  joking,  and  the 
inevitable  feeble  punning  on  her  name  and  with- 
ered looks.  There  were  some  -who  said  she  could 
not  be  more  than  forty-five,  but  they  were  in  the 
minority,  and  even  the  more  generously  inclined 
could  not  deny  that  her  face  was  very  old  and 
wrinkled  and  tired -looking,  and  that  her  hair 
was  fast  getting  gray  around  the  temples,  though 
her  eyes  still  retained  a  brilliancy  quite  feverish, 
and  an  eager,  unsatisfied  sort  of  look  that  struck 
some  of  the  more  imaginative  as  pathetic.  As 
a  freshman  she  seemed  indeed  to  be  hopelessly 
out  of  place — though  not  so  much  so,  perhaps, 
as  the  little  Chicago  beauty  who  was  so  much 
more  interested  in  her  gowns  and  looks  than 
in  her  work,  that  at  the  beginning  of  her  second 
semestre  she  went  home  with  an  attack  of  pneu- 
monia, brought  on  by  having  been  left  out  in  the 
cold  after  an  examination  in  conic  sections. 

216 


"Miss  Rose" 

That  type,  however,  is  not  uncommon,  while 
"  Miss  Rose  "  was  especially  puzzling.  They 
could  not  quite  understand  her,  and  there  were 
even  some  among  the  august  body  of  ridiculous 
freshmen  who  somewhat  resented  her  entrance 
into  their  ranks,  and  wondered  rather  discontent- 
edly why  she  did  not  join  the  great  body  of 
"  T-specs  "  to  which  she  so  evidently  belonged. 

But  it  was  characteristic  of  this  woman  that 
she  preferred  to  begin  at  the  beginning  and 
work  her  way  up — to  take  the  regular  systematic 
grind  and  discipline  of  the  freshman's  lot — to 
matriculating  in  an  elective  course  where  she 
could  get  through  easily  enough  if  she  were  so 
inclined.  She  saw  no  incongruity  in  her  po- 
sition ;  she  rarely  seemed  to  notice  the  difference 
between  herself  and  the  younger,  quicker  intel- 
lects around  her,  and  she  worked  with  an  enthu- 
siasm and  persistence  that  put  most  of  the 
young  women  to  shame.  That  she  had  taught 
was  evident — in  what  little  out-of-the-way  Wes- 
tern town,  or  sleepy  Southern  one,  no  one  knew ; 
but  sometimes  there  were  amusing  little  scenes 
between  herself  and  the  professor,  when  the  old 
habit  of  school-room  tyranny  which  she  had 
once  exercised  herself  was  strong  upon  her,  and 
she  lapsed  unconsciously  into  the  didactic  man- 
ner of  her  former  life.  And  sometimes  she  be- 

217 


"Miss  Rose" 

came  discouraged  when  the  long  lack  of  strict 
mental  discipline  irked  her,  and  when  she  saw  in 
a  glimpse  how  far  she  was  behind  the  girl  of 
nineteen  beside  her,  and  how  hopeless  was  the 
struggle  she  was  making  against  youth  and 
training.  There  were  moments  when  she  real- 
ized that  she  had  begun  too  late,  that  the  time 
she  had  lost  was  lost  irretrievably.  But  the  re- 
action would  quickly  come  and  she  would  work 
away  with  renewed  energy,  and  they  were  very 
patient  with  her  and  would  lend  her  a  helping 
hand  where  a  younger  student  would  have  been 
let  most  severely  alone,  to  sink  or  swim  after 
the  approved  method. 

But  if  her  mathematics  and  chemistry  and 
Tacitus  left  much  to  be  desired,  there  was  one 
field  in  which  she  shone  resplendently.  "No 
one  could  touch  her"  —  as  one  young  woman 
slangly  but  enthusiastically  remarked — "  when  it 
came  to  the  Bible."  There  she  was  in  her  glory, 
and  her  vast  knowledge  of  the  wars  of  Jeroboam 
and  Rehoboam,  and  her  appalling  familiarity 
with  Shamgar  and  the  prophets,  and  the  mean- 
ing of  the  Urim  and  Thummim,  and  other  such 
things,  was  the  envy  and  despair  of  the  younger 
and  less  biblically  inclined.  And  if  at  times  she 
was  a  trifle  too  prolix  and  had  to  be  stopped 
in  her  flow  of  information,  there  was  very 

218 


"Miss  Rose" 

genuine  regret  on  the  part  of  the  less  well  in- 
formed. 

And  in  time  she  came  to  make  a  great  many 
friends.  Her  peculiar  ways  no  longer  struck 
them  as  comical,  and  if  anyone  had  dared  make 
reference  to  the  plainness  of  her  gowns  or  the 
strict  economies  she  practised  to  get  through, 
that  person  would  have  very  soon  discovered  her 
mistake ;  and  they  pretended  not  to  know  that 
she  would  not  join  any  of  the  societies  because 
of  the  dues,  and  that  she  did  her  own  laundry  on 
Monday  afternoons.  Indeed,  she  was  so  kindly 
disposed  and  so  cheerful  and  helpful,  and  seemed 
so  interested  in  all  the  class  projects  and  even 
in  the  sports,  at  which  of  course  she  could  only 
look  on,  that  little  by  little  she  came  to  be  a 
great  favorite,  and  the  one  to  whom  the  rest 
naturally  turned  when  there  was  any  hitch  or 
especial  need  for  advice.  And  then,  of  course, 
as  she  was  not  to  be  thought  of  in  the  light  of  a 
possible  candidate  for  president  or  vice-presi- 
dent or  captain  of  the  crew,  or  any  of  the  other 
desirable  high-places,  those  misguided  young 
women  who  did  have  such  literary,  social,  or 
athletic  aspirations  would  go  to  her  and  confide 
their  hopes  and  fears,  and  in  some  strange  way 
they  would  all  feel  very  much  more  comfortable 
and  happy  in  their  minds  after  such  confessions. 

219 


"Miss  Rose'1 


And  so  she  got  to  be  a  sort  of  class  institution 
in  a  very  short  while,  and  the  captains  of  dif- 
ferent stylish  but  rather  un-nautical  freshman 
crews  vied  with  each  other  in  invitations  to 
"  come  over  the  lake  "  with  them,  and  the  presi- 
dent of  the  Tennis  Association  sent  her  a 
special  and  entirely  superfluous  invitation  to  the 
spring  tournament  on  the  club's  finest  paper, 
and  the  senior  editor  of  the  college  magazine, 
whose  sister  was  a  freshman,  was  made  to  ask  her 
fora  short  article  on  the  "  Study  of  the  Bible," 
and  at  the  concerts  and  receptions  many  young 
women,  kindly  and  socially  disposed,  would  in- 
troduce her  to  their  brothers  and  other  male  re- 
lations who  had  been  enticed  out,  before  taking 
them  on  to  see  the  lake,  or  a  certain  famous 
walk,  or  the  Art  Building,  or  the  Gymnasium. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  winter  semes- 
tre  that  it  happened,  and  of  course  it  was  Clara 
Arnold  who  knew  about  it  first.  Miss  Arnold 
had  liked  "  Miss  Rose "  from  the  beginning. 
She  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  hard-working 
woman,  who  had  returned  it  with  wondering  ad- 
miration for  the  handsome,  clever  girl.  And  so 
Miss  Arnold  got  into  the  habit  of  stopping 
for  her  occasionally  to  walk  or  drive,  and  it  was 
when  she  went  for  her  to  go  on  one  of  those  ex- 
220 


"Miss  Rose" 


peditions,  that  she  discovered  the  trouble.  She 
found  "  Miss  Rose  "  sitting  before  her  desk  with 
a  crumpled  newspaper  in  her  hand,  and  a  dazed, 
hopeless  expression  on  her  face  which  cut  the 
girl  to  the  heart.  Her  things  were  scattered 
about  the  room,  on  the  bed  and  chairs,  an  open 
trunk  half-filled  stood  in  one  corner.  Miss 
Arnold  stared  around  in  amazement. 

"  The  bank's  broken,"  said  "  Miss  Rose  "  sim- 
ply, in  answer  to  her  questioning  glance,  and 
pointed  dully  to  the  paper.  "I  might  have 
known  that  little  bank  couldn't  hold  out  when 
so  many  big  ones  have  gone  under  this  year," 
she  went  on,  half  speaking  to  herself. 

Miss  Arnold  picked  up  the  paper  and  read  an 
article  on  the  first  page  marked  around  with  a 
blue  pencil.  She  did  not  understand  the  tech- 
nicalities, but  she  made  out  that  the  "  City  Bank  " 
of  a  small  town  in  Idaho  had  been  forced  to 
close,  and  that  depositors  would  not  get  more 
than  five  or  ten  cents  on  the  dollar. 

"  Every  cent  I've  saved  up  was  in  that  bank !  " 
The  woman  turned  herself  slowly  in  her  chair 
and  laid  her  face  down  on  the  desk  with  her 
arms  above  her  head.  She  spoke  in  muffled 
tones  into  which  a  strange  bitterness  had  crept. 

"  I've  worked  all  my  life — ever  since  I  was 
twenty — to  get  enough  money  to  come  to  college 
221 


"Miss  Rose" 

on.  I  had  barely  enough  to  stay  here  at  all — 
and  now — "  she  stopped  suddenly,  breathing 
hard.  "I  haven't  been  here  a  year  yet,"  she 
broke  out  at  last. 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  go  back  to  teaching. 
Great  heavens !  I  thought  I'd  finished  with 
that !  " 

Miss  Arnold  seated  herself  on  a  clear  corner 
of  the  bed. 

"  Look  here, '  Miss  Hose,' "  she  said,  excitedly, 
"of  course  you  aren't  going  to  stop  college 
now,  when  you're  doing  so  well  and — and  we  all 
like  you  so  much  and — and  you're  just  beginning 
your  course."  She  stumbled  on — "  Has  every- 
thing gone  ? — can't  you  do  something  ?  " 

"  Miss  Hose  "  looked  up  slowly — "  Every- 
thing," she  said  grimly,  and  then,  with  the  pathet- 
ically resigned  air  of  one  who  has  been  used  to 
misfortunes  and  has  learned  to  accept  them 
quietly,  "  I've  worked  all  my  life,  I  suppose  I 
can  go  at  it  again."  She  looked  around  her. 
"  I'll  be  gone  this  time  to-morrow,  and  then  I 
won't  feel  so  badly  ; " — she  put  her  head  down  on 
the  desk  again. 

Miss  Arnold  looked  thoughtfully  at  her  for  a 
few  minutes  and  then,  with  a  sudden  movement, 
she  got  up  and  went  out,  closing  the  door  softly 
behind  her. 


Miss  Rose" 


It  was  about  nine  o'clock  that  evening  and 
"  Miss  Eose  "  had  almost  finished  packing.  She 
was  feeling  particularly  disheartened  and  was 
taking  the  books  from  the  cases  one  by  one  in  a 
very  mournful  way,  when  she  heard  footsteps 
and  a  subdued  but  very  excited  whispering  out- 
side her  door.  She  got  up  languidly  and 
threaded  her  way  among  the  books  and  cushions 
and  odd  articles  of  clothing  heaped  up  on  the 
floor.  As  she  opened  the  door,  the  light  from 
her  student-lamp  fell  upon  the  very  red  face  of 
a  freshman  propelled  apparently  into  the  room 
by  the  two  or  three  others  behind  her,  who 
seemed  to  have  a  wild  desire  to  efface  themselves 
entirely. 

"  Miss  Eose,"  gasped  the  blushing  freshman 
in  the  van,  "here — here  is  a  letter  for  you. 
We've  just  had  a  class  meeting — "  she  looked 
nervously  at  the  others  who  were  edging  away. 

There  was  an  indistinct  chorus  from  them 
which  sounded  like  "hope  you'll  accept,"  and 
then  they  retreated  with  as  much  dignity  as  pos- 
sible, but  in  great  haste. 

"  Miss  Eose  "  opened  the  letter  and  gave  a  lit- 
tle cry  as  a  check  for  a  good  round  sum  drawn 
on  the  class  treasurer  fell  to  the  floor.  And  then 
she  sat  weakly  down  on  the  bed  and  cried  a  lit- 
tle from  pure  happiness  as  she  read  it  all  over. 

223 


"Miss  Rose" 

"  The  class  of  '9 — have  just  heard  of  '  Miss 
Rose's '  financial  embarrassment  occasioned  by 

the  failure  of  the City  Bank,  and  being  most 

unwilling  to  lose  so  valuable  and  appreciated  a 
member,  beg  that  she  will  accept  the  enclosed 
and  continue  with  the  class  until  the  end  of  the 
year." 


224 


A  SHORT  STUDY  IN   EVOLUTION 


A  SHORT  STUDY  IN   EVOLUTION 

0 

A  COLLEGE  for  women  is  generally  looked 
upon  by  the  outside  world  and  the  visiting 
preachers  as  a  haven  of  rest,  a  sort  of  oasis  in 
the  desert  of  life,  a  Paradise  with  a  large  and 
flourishing  Tree  of  Knowledge  of  which  one  is 
commanded  to  eat,  and  where  one  is  happily 
ignorant  of  the  "  struggle  for  life,"  and  the  woes 
and  evils  of  the  world. 

Such  views  have  been  so  often  expressed  and 
inculcated  that  it  appears  a  little  ungracious  and 
stubborn  to  insist  that  the  bishop  who  comes 
out  and  delivers  a  sermon  once  a  year,  or  the 
brilliant  young  graduate  from  a  neighboring 
seminary  —  who  is  sent  because  the  dean  has 
been  suddenly  called  away  and  who  is  quaking 
with  fear  at  the  ordeal — cannot  possibly  know 
all  about  a  girl's  college  life  and  its  temptations 
and  its  trials  and  its  vanities. 

When  the  heterogeneous  mass  of  humanity 
which  makes  up  a  big  college  is  got  together  and 
in  close  relation  for  ten  months  at  a  time,  there 
is  bound  to  be  action  and  reaction.  When  New 

237 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


York  society  girls  and  missionaries'  daughters 
from  India,  and  Boston  Latin-school  girls  and 
native  Japanese,  and  Westerners  and  Georgians 
and  Australians  and  "  Teacher  Specials,"  and 
very  young  preparatory-school  girls,  are  all  mixed 
up  together,  it  inevitably  happens  that  there  is 
some  friction  and  many  unexpected  and  inter- 
esting results.  One  of  these  is  that  it  not  in- 
frequently happens  that  a  young  woman  leaves 
college  an  entirely  different  person  from  the  girl 
who  took  her  entrance  examinations,  and  some- 
times the  change  is  for  the  better  and  sometimes 
for  the  worse,  or  it  may  be  unimportant  and  re- 
late only  to  the  way  she  has  got  to  wearing  her 
hair,  or  the  amount  of  extra  money  she  considers 
necessary.  At  any  rate,  a  noticeable  change  of 
some  sort  always  operates  in  a  girl  during  her 
four  or  five  years'  stay  at  a  college,  and  when 
she  goes  home  "  for  good  "  her  friends  will  criti- 
cise her  from  their  different  points  of  view,  and 
will  be  sure  to  tell  her  whether  she  is  improved 
or  not. 

"When  Miss  Eva  Hungerford  returned  for  her 
senior  year  at  college,  having  been  greatly  dis- 
appointed in  one  of  her  friends,  she  determined 
to  make  no  new  ones,  but  to  work  very  hard  and 
keep  a  great  deal  to  herself.  She  succeeded  so 
well  in  her  efforts  that,  after  she  had  been  there 

228 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


three  months,  she  became  aware  that  she  knew 
absolutely  none  of  the  new  students.  They  were 
an  indistinguishable  mass  to  her,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  two  or  three  noticeably  pretty,  and 
about  the  same  number  of  extremely  homely 
young  women  whose  physique  rendered  them 
conspicuous.  To  her  uninterested  gaze  the  large 
majority  seemed  to  be  distressingly  like  all  pre- 
vious freshman  classes,  and  endowed  with  the 
same  modest  amount  of  good  looks  and  intel- 
lectual foreheads. 

But  in  college  life  it  is  a  strange  fact  that 
while  upper  classes  find  it  rather  difficult  to  be- 
come acquainted  among  the  lower  ones,  owing, 
of  course,  to  the  unwritten  code  which  prevents 
a  senior  from  appearing  interested  in  any  but 
those  of  her  own  class,  yet  the  incoming  students 
are  allowed  and  take  every  opportunity  of  in- 
gratiating themselves  with  upper-class  girls, 
without  injury  to  their  dignity.  But  Miss  Hun- 
gerford,  who  had  surrounded  herself  with  quite 
an  impenetrable  air  of  seniority,  and  who  was  so 
extremely  handsome  and  distant-looking,  by  her 
appearance  and  bearing  had  exercised  a  rather 
chilling  influence  on  young  aspirants  for  an  in- 
troduction, and  was  secretly  very  much  looked 
up  to  and  feared. 

She  was  not  entirely  unconscious  of  the  effect 

229 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


she  produced,  and  was  therefore  decidedly  sur- 
prised one  day  to  receive  a  call  from  a  freshman 
who  lived  only  a  few  doors  from  her,  but  of 
whose  existence  she  had  not  been  aware.  She 
thought  the  child — she  was  very  young,  not  more 
than  sixteen — uninteresting,  and  that  it  was  an 
evidence  of  extremely  bad  taste,  and  unconveu- 
tionality  on  her  part  to  call  in  that  unprovoked 
way.  But  she  was  very  polite  to  her  uninvited 
guest,  and  asked  her  the  usual  questions,  and  the 
girl,  who  was  very  naive,  replied  with  a  loquacity 
quite  trying  to  her  hostess. 

Miss  Hungerford  was  rather  indignant  after 
her  visitor  had  gone,  and  wondered  why  she  had 
had  to  be  interrupted  in  an  analytical  study  of 
"  Prometheus  Unbound,"  to  listen  to  a  child  tell 
her  that  she  had  never  been  out  of  Iowa  before, 
and  that  her  mother  had  not  wanted  her  to  come 
to  college,  but  that  her  father  had  always  said 
she  should  have  "  a  higher  education,"  and  so, 
after  presumably  much  domestic  wrangling,  she 
was  there.  Miss  Hungerford  could  not  remem- 
ber much  else  of  what  the  young  girl  had  told 
her,  having  listened  rather  absently  to  her  re- 
plies, but  she  had  a  distinct  impression  that  her 
visitor  was  not  at  all  good-looking,  with  only  a 
fine  pair  of  eyes  to  redeem  her  pale  face,  and 
that  her  clothes  were  atrocious,  and  that  she  was 

330 


A   RATHER   CHILLING    INFLUENCE 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


gauche  and  decidedly  of  a  social  class  that  Miss 
Hungerford  was  not  in  the  habit  of  mingling 
with  away  from  college.  For  even  in  a  very 
democratic  college  there  are  social  grades,  and 
although  it  is  the  thing  to  meet  in  a  most 
friendly  way  at  all  class  functions,  still,  a  narrow 
line  of  distinction  may  be  perceived  on  social 
occasions. 

Altogether  Miss  Hungerford  felt  rather  ag- 
grieved and  hoped  she  would  not  be  bothered 
again.  But  she  was.  Miss  Betty  Harmon,  of 
Sioux  City,  la.,  had  had  a  fearful  struggle  with 
her  timidity  and  retiring  nature,  when  she  called 
on  Miss  Hungerford,  and  having  gained  a  vic- 
tory over  herself,  she  had  no  intention  of  resign- 
ing the  benefits.  So  she  would  smile  first  when 
they  met  in  the  corridors,  and  was  not  above 
showing  how  much  she  appreciated  a  few  words 
from  Miss  Hungerford  in  praise  of  her  tennis 
serve,  and  that  young  woman  was  even  uncom- 
fortably conscious  that  her  youthful  admirer  had 
more  than  once  followed  her  to  the  library, 
where,  under  pretence  of  reading,  she  had  stolen 
furtive  glances  at  her.  Later  there  were  notes, 
and  roses,  and  requests  to  go  boating. 

Miss  Hungerford  strongly  objected  to  such 
proceedings,  not  only  because  she  did  not  wish 
to  be  rendered  ridiculous  by  an  insignificant 

231 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


freshman  from  Iowa,  but  also  because  she  was  a 
very  sensible  girl,  and  entirely  disapproved  of 
the  "  eclectic  affinity  "  business,  and  she  had  no 
intention  of  allowing  the  young  girl's  admiration 
for  herself  to  develop  into  that  abnormal  sort  of 
attraction  that  exists  between  girls  in  so  many 
schools  and  colleges. 

The  temptation  to  exalt  some  upper-class  girl 
into  an  ideal  and  lavish  upon  her  an  affection 
which  in  society  would  naturally  fall  to  the  lot 
of  some  very  unideal  boy,  or  man,  is  one  of  the 
greatest  ordeals  a  college  girl  goes  through,  and 
one  who  successfully  resists  all  inducements  to 
become  a  "divinity  student,"  or  who  gets  out 
of  the  entanglement  without  damage  to  herself, 
is  as  successfully  "  proven  "  as  was  Lieutenant 
Ouless  after  his  little  affair  with  Private  Ortheris. 
Even  the  least  romantic  girl  is  apt  to  find  unex- 
pected possibilities  in  her  nature  in  the  way  of 
romantic  devotion,  so  that  it  was  not  surprising 
that  Miss  Betty  Harmon,  unimaginative  and 
unsentimental  as  she  was,  should  have  admired 
so  extravagantly  as  handsome  and  interesting 
a  girl  as  Eva  Hungerf ord.  The  crude  Western 
girl  found  something  extremely  attractive  in  the 
senior — grace,  a  social  ease  and  distinction,  and 
that  indefinable  magnetism  which  a  wealthy, 
consciously  beautiful  girl  possesses. 

233 


SHE   HAD   STOLEN   FURTIVE    GLANCES    AT   HER 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


But  Miss  Hungerford,  who  had  no  notion  of 
getting  herself  talked  about,  and  whose  Eastern 
sensitiveness  and  prejudices  were  continually 
being  shocked  by  the  younger  girl's  crudities,  so 
persistently  frowned  down  upon  and  ignored  her 
under-class  admirer,  that  even  Miss  Harmon's 
devotion  paled,  and  the  roses  and  notes  and 
boating  excursions  ceased.  She  began  to  per- 
ceive that  the  faint  line  of  social  distinction,  so 
rarely  perceptible  in  the  college,  had  been  drawn 
in  her  case. 

During  the  last  semestre  of  the  year  Miss 
Hungerford,  who  was  very  tired  and  busy,  seemed 
almost  oblivious  of  the  young  girl's  existence, 
and  even  forgot  to  smile  at  her  when  they  met 
on  the  campus.  And  when  on  her  Baccalaureate 
Sunday  a  box  of  white  roses — the  last  mute  ex- 
pression of  Miss  Harmon's  expiring  affection — 
was  handed  her  without  any  card,  she  wondered 
who  had  sent  them  and  concluded  they  must 
have  been  ordered  by  a  man  she  knew. 

Three  years  after  leaving  college  Miss  Hun- 
gerford married,  much  to  her  friends'  surprise, 
and  a  year  after  that  she  and  her  husband  went 
abroad.  Of  course  they  went  to  Paris,  where 
Mrs.  Stanhope,  who  had  spent  much  time  there 
after  leaving  college,  had  a  great  many  friends, 

233 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


and  innumerable  dinners  were  given  to  them  and 
they  enjoyed  themselves  very  much,  until  it  got 
so  cold  that  Mrs.  Stanhope  said  she  must  go  to 
Cannes.  Of  course  it  immediately  struck  Stan- 
hope, who  adored  his  wife,  that  it  was  entirely 
too  cold  to  stay  in  Paris,  and  so  they  went 
south,  though  their  friends  made  a  great  fuss 
over  their  departure. 

They  stayed  away  much  longer  than  they  had 
intended,  having  been  enticed  into  going  to 
Malta  by  some  American  acquaintances,  and 
when  they  got  back  to  Paris  hundreds  of  inter- 
esting things  seemed  to  have  happened  in  their 
absence,  and  a  great  many  people  and  events 
were  being  talked  about  of  which  they  knew 
nothing.  But  the  wife  of  the  American  min- 
ister, who  was  an  old  friend,  went  to  see  Mrs. 
Stanhope  immediately  to  invite  her  to  an  in- 
formal dinner  the  next  evening,  and  stayed  the 
entire  afternoon,  telling  her  of  everything  that 
had  happened  and  who  all  the  new  people  were 
— the  New  American  Beauty  for  instance.  She 
could  not  believe  that  her  friend  had  not  heard 
of  nor  seen  the  New  Beauty. 

"  Why,  haven't  you  ever  seen  her  pictures — 
and  the  notices  of  her  ?  " 

Mrs.  Stanhope  was  slightly  aggrieved.  She 
knew  absolutely  nothing  about  her. 

234 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


"  And  I  am  completely  astonished  tliat  they 
aren't  talking  of  her  at  Cannes." 

Mrs.  Stanhope  reminded  her  friend  that  she  had 
been  immured  at  Malta  since  leaving  the  Riviera. 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  her  fame  has  reached 
there  by  this  time.  Why,  all  Paris  is  talking 
about  her — and  you  know  yourself  " — observed 
that  astute  lady,  impressively — "how  much  it 
takes  to  make  Paris  stop  and  look  at  you." 
Mrs.  Stanhope  said  "  Yes,"  and  wanted  to  know 
who  The  Beauty's  people  were,  and  where  she 
had  come  from. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  declared  her  friend. 
"  No  one  seems  to  inquire.  She  is  so  beautiful 
and  sufficient  in  herself  that  one  does  not  care 
much  for  the  rest.  They  are  immensely  rich — 
recently,  I  believe — though  you  would  never 
know  it  from  her  manner.  She  is  charming  and 
thoroughly  well-bred.  Her  father,  I  hear,  is  a 
typical  American  business  man — not  much  en 
evidence,  you  know.  He  leaves  that  to  his 
daughter,  and  she  does  it  very  well.  He  is  a 
Senator — or  something — from  the  "West,  and 
made  such  a  name  for  himself  at  Washington 
that  they  thought  he  was  too  bright  to  stay 
there,  so  they  sent  him  over  here  to  help  settle 
that  international  treaty  affair — you  know  per- 
haps— I  don't,  I  only  pretend  to." 

235 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


"  How  did  she  do  it  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Staii- 
hope,  in  that  simply  comprehensive  way  women 
have  when  talking  about  another  woman. 

"  Oh,  she  just  started  right  in.  Courtelais 
raved  over  her,  and  her  father  paid  him  twenty 
thousand  dollars  to  have  her  painted.  The  Col- 
ony took  her  up,  and  the  rest  just  followed  nat- 
urally. The  portrait  is  really  charming,  though 
she  was  dressed — well,  I  don't  think  any  French 
girl  would  have  sat  in  that  costume." 

"  Is  she  really  so  beautiful  ?  " 

"  "Well — not  regularly  beautiful,  perhaps — but 
charming  and  fascinating,  and  awfully  clever, 
they  say — so  clever  that  very  few  people  sus- 
pect her  of  it,  and — oh !  well,  you  can  judge  for 
yourself  to-morrow  evening.  By  the  way,  every- 
one says  she  is  engaged  already — Comte  de  la 
Tour.  You  used  to  know  him,  I  think."  She 
rose  to  go.  "  He  is  very  much  in  love  with  her, 
that  is  evident."  She  thought  it  best  to  let  Mrs. 
Stanhope  have  that  piece  of  news  from  herself. 
She  did  not  wish  her  friend  to  be  taken  at  a  dis- 
advantage, especially  in  her  own  house. 

Mrs.  Stanhope  felt  the  least  bit  startled.  She 
had  known  the  Comte  de  la  Tour  very  well  in- 
deed in  Paris,  several  years  before,  and  he  had 
been  very  much  in  love  with  her,  and  had  ap- 
peared quite  genuinely  broken-hearted  when 

236 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


she  refused  him.  She  had  not  seen  him — he 
had  not  been  in  Paris  when  she  was  there  dur- 
ing the  earlier  part  of  the  season — but  with  the 
comforting  faith  of  people  who  have  never  been 
in  love,  she  had  always  believed  that  he  would 
get  over  his  devotion  to  her,  though  she  felt  a 
rather  curious  sensation  on  hearing  that  her  ex- 
pectations had  been  so  fully  realized,  and  she 
felt  a  pardonable  curiosity  to  see  the  girl  who 
had  made  him  forget  her. 

She  dressed  very  carefully  for  the  American 
Minister's  the  next  evening,  and  looked  a  little 
more  than  her  usual  handsome  self,  when  her 
carriage  turned  rapidly  into  the  Avenue  Hoche. 
She  was  somewhat  late,  and  although  the  Min- 
ister and  his  wife  were  old  friends,  she  felt  wor- 
ried with  herself,  for  she  had  made  it  a  rule  to 
be  punctual  at  all  social  functions,  and  when 
she  entered  the  rooms  she  could  see  that  the 
guests  wore  that  rather  expectant  air  which  sig- 
nifies that  dinner  is  already  slightly  behind 
time.  She  hurried  forward  and  denounced  her- 
self in  polite  fashion,  but  her  hostess  assured 
her  that  several  others  had  not  yet  arrived,  and, 
much  relieved,  she  turned  to  speak  to  a  bright 
newspaper  man,  an  old  acquaintance,  who  had 
arrived  in  Paris  during  her  absence. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  again,"  he  mur- 

237 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


mured  in  his  drawl;  "they  tell  me  you  have 
been  to  Malta.  How  fortunate  for  you !  I  sup- 
pose now  you  have  been  happy  in  an  idyllic, 
out-of-the-world  way,  and  have  not  heard  a  word 
about  Brice's  accident,  nor  the  newspaper  duel, 
nor  the  New  Beauty " 

"  But  I  am  not  happy,  and  shall  not  be  until 
I  see  your  Beauty,"  protested  Mrs.  Stanhope. 
"I've  heard  about  her  until  I  have  an  all-de- 
vouring curiosity  to  behold  her.  I  haven't  even 
seen  the  portrait,  or  a  photograph ! " 

He  fell  away  from  her  in  mock  surprise  and 
despair,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  por- 
tieres were  drawn  aside  and  Mrs.  Stanhope 
saw  coming  into  the  room  a  very  beautiful 
young  girl,  with  a  rather  childish,  mobile  face, 
and  magnificent  eyes.  She  seemed  to  know 
everyone,  and  bowed  and  smiled  right  and  left 
in  an  easy,  bright  sort  of  way.  Mrs.  Stanhope 
would  have  known  this  was  The  Beauty,  even  if 
her  entrance  had  not  been  accompanied  by  that 
significant  hush  and  rather  ridiculous  closing  up 
of  the  men  in  her  wake.  There  was  a  special 
charm  about  the  soft  contour  of  her  face,  and 
the  heavy  white  satin  of  her  gown,  though  rather 
old  for  such  a  young  girl,  set  off  her  beauty 
admirably. 

"  Looks  just  like  one  of    Goodrich's  girls, 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


doesn't  she  ?  "  murmured  the  man  'at  Mi's.  Stan- 
hope's elbow.  But  that  lady  was  not  paying 
any  attention  to  his  remarks.  She  was  looking 
in  a  puzzled  fashion  at  the  girl's  face,  and  won- 
dering what  there  was  about  it  so  familiar. 

"  Isn't  she  deliciously  beautiful?  "  he  insisted, 
"  and  clever !  I  found  it  out  quite  by  accident. 
She's  very  careful  about  letting  people  know 
how  well  informed  she  is.  She's  been  to  a  col- 
lege somewhere,"  he  ran  on.  Mrs.  Stanhope 
was  not  listening.  She  was  still  looking,  in  a 
rather  abstracted  way,  at  the  young  girl  who 
was  holding  a  little  court  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room.  Her  hostess  rustled  up. 

"I  am  going  to  send  my  husband  to  bring 
The  Beauty  to  you,"  she  said,  laughingly,  and 
swept  across  the  room.  In  a  moment  Mrs. 
Stanhope  saw  the  girl  take  the  Minister's  arm, 
and,  followed  on  the  other  side  by  the  Comte 
de  la  Tour,  start  toward  her.  For  some  inex- 
plicable reason  she  felt  annoyed,  and  half  wished 
to  avoid  the  introduction.  The  newspaper  man 
was  interested.  Mrs.  Stanhope  had  never  posed 
as  a  professional  beauty,  and  she  wras  too  noble 
a  woman  to  have  her  head  turned  by  flattery, 
but  that  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  she  had  been 
considered  the  handsomest  woman  in  the  Amer- 
ican colony  at  Paris,  and,  of  course,  she  knew 

239 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


it.  He  thought  it  would  be  interesting  to  see 
how  the  acknowledged  beauty  received  the 
younger  one. 

When  the  two  women  were  within  a  few  feet 
of  each  other,  and  before  the  American  Minister 
could  say  "  Mrs.  Stanhope,"  they  each  gave  a 
little  cry  of  recognition,  and  it  was  the  younger 
one  who  first  regained  her  composure  and  ex- 
tended her  hand.  She  stood  there,  flushed  and 
smiling,  the  lights  falling  on  her  dark  hair  and 
gleaming  shoulders,  making  of  her,  as  the  news- 
paper man  had  said,  one  of  "  Goodrich's  girls." 
The  childish  look  had  gone  out  of  her  eyes,  and 
a  little  gleam  of  conscious  triumph  was  in  them. 
There  was  just  a  shade  of  coldness,  almost  of 
condescension,  in  her  manner.  While  the  Comte 
was  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  in  a  rather 
mystified  Avay,  and  the  American  Minister  was 
saying,  "  Why,  I  didn't  know — I  thought — " 
Mrs.  Stanhope's  mind  was  running  quickly  back 
to  her  first  meeting  with  the  girl  before  her, 
and  she  could  only  remember,  in  a  confused 
sort  of  way,  what  this  girl  had  once  been  like. 
And  so  they  stood  for  a  moment — it  seemed  an 
interminably  long  time  to  the  men — looking  a 
little  constrainedly  at  each  other  and  smiling 
vaguely.  But  the  older  woman  quickly  recov- 
ered herself.  She  had  no  notion  of  being  out- 

240 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


done  by  the  girl  before  her,  and  spoke  bright- 

iy- 

"  I  did  not  recognize  you  !  How  stupid  of 
me !  But  you  see  the  '  Beatrice '  confused  me, 
and  then  the  French  way  everyone  has  of  pro- 
nouncing H-a-r-m-6-n  completely  put  me  off  the 
track ! " 

She  tried  to  be  very  friendly,  and  the  young 
girl  smiled  and  looked  easily — the  newspaper 
man  thought  almost  defiantly — at  her,  but  it 
was  plain  to  the  three  onlookers  that  in  some 
inscrutable  way  the  meeting  had  been  unfortu- 
nate, and  they  each  felt  relieved,  in  an  inexplic- 
able fashion,  when  dinner  was  announced  and 
the  snowy,  gleaming  length  of  damask  and  sil- 
ver and  wax  lights  stretched  between  the  two 
women. 


That  night  the  Comte  thought  a  good  deal 
about  the  reception  of  his  fiancee  by  the  woman 
he  had  once  loved,  and  decided  that  the  Amer- 
ican woman  was  a  trifle  exigeante,  and  wondered 
whether  Mrs.  Stanhope  had  really  expected  him 
never  to  marry. 

The  American  Minister  confided  to  his  wife 
that  he  was  disappointed  in  Eva  Stanhope,  and 
that  she  had  always  appeared  so  free  from  van- 

241 


A  Short  Study  in  Evolution 


ity  and  so  superior  to  the  little  meannesses  of 
women  that  he  was  very  much  surprised  at  the 
way  she  had  acted. 

The  newspaper  man,  being  exceedingly  wise 
in  his  generation,  smoked  three  cigars  over  it 
on  the  way  to  his  hotel,  and  then — gave  it  up. 


243 


THE  GENIUS   OF  BOWLDER  BLUFF 


THE  GENIUS  OF  BOWLDER  BLUFF 

MISS  AENOLD  found  him  wandering  aim- 
lessly, though  with  a  pleased,  interested 
look,  around  the  dimly  lit  College  Library.  She 
had  gone  there  herself  to  escape  for  a  few  mo- 
ments from  the  heat  and  lights  and  the  crowd 
around  the  Scotch  celebrity  to  whom  the  re- 
ception was  being  tendered,  and  was  looking 
rather  desultorily  at  an  article  in  the  latest 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  when  he  emerged  from 
one  of  the  alcoves  and  stood  hesitatingly  before 
her.  She  saw  that  he  was  not  a  guest.  He  was 
not  in  evening  dress — it  occurred  to  her  even 
then  how  entirely  out  of  his  element  he  would 
have  looked  in  a  conventional  dress  -  suit  —  but 
wore  new  clothes  of  some  rough  material  which 
fitted  him  badly.  He  was  so  evidently  lost  and 
so  painfully  aware  of  it  that  she  hastened  to 
ask  him  if  she  could  do  anything  for  him. 

"I'm  lookin'  fur  my  daughter,  Ellen  Old- 
ham,"  he  said,  gratefully.  "  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

He  seemed  much  surprised  and  a  little  hurt 
when  Miss  Arnold  shook  her  head,  smilingly. 

245 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


"  You  see,  there  are  so  many "  she  began, 

noting  his  disappointed  look. 

"  Then  I  s'pose  you  can't  find  her  fer  me. 
You  see,"  he  explained,  gently,  "  I  wrote  her  I 
wuz  comin'  ter-morrer,  an'  I  came  ter-night  fur 
a  surprise — a  surprise,"  he  repeated,  delight- 
edly. "  But  I'm  mighty  disappointed  not  ter 
find  her.  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  wuz  so 
fur  east.  But  I  hed  to  see  Ellen — couldn't  stan' 
it  no  longer.  You  see,"  he  continued,  ner- 
vously, "I  thought  mebbe  I  could  stay  here 
three  or  four  days,  but  last  night  I  got  a  tele- 
gram from  my  pardner  on  the  mountain  sayin' 
there  wuz  trouble  among  the  boys  an'  fur  me 
ter  come  back.  But  I — I  jest  couldn't  go  back 
without  seein'  Ellen,  so  I  came  on  ter-night  fur 
a  surprise,  but  I  must  start  back  right  oft,  an' 
I'm  mighty  disappointed  not  ter  be  seein'  her 
all  this  time.  Hed  no  idea  yer  college  wuz 
such  a  big  place — thought  I  could  walk  right 
in  an'  spot  her,"  he  ran  on  meditatively — "I 
thought  it  wuz  something  like  Miss  Bellairs's  an' 
Miss  Tompkins's  an'  Miss  Band's  all  rolled  inter 
one.  But  Lord!  it's  a  sight  bigger'n  that! 
Well,  I'm  glad  of  it.  I've  thought  fur  years 
about  Ellen's  havin'  a  college  eddication,  an' 
I'm  glad  to  see  it's  a  real  big  college.  Never 
hed  no  schoolin'  myself,  but  I  jest  set  my  heart 

248 


T\)e  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


on  Ellen's  havin'  it.  Why  shouldn't  she  ?  I've 
got  ther  money.  Hed  to  work  mighty  hard 
fur  it,  but  I've  got  it,  an'  she  wanted  ter  come 
to  college,  and  I  wanted  her  to  come,  so  of 
course  she  came.  I  met  another  young  wom- 
an," he  continued,  smiling  frankly  at  the  girl 
before  him  ;  "  she  wasn't  so  fine-lookin'  as  you, 
but  she  was  a  very  nice  young  woman,  an'  she 
promised  to  send  Ellen  ter  me,  but  she  hasn't 
done  it !  " 

Miss  Arnold  felt  a  sudden  interest  in  the  old 
man. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  began,  doubtfully,  "  if  you 
could  tell  me  what  her  class  is,  or  in  what 
building  she  has  her  rooms,  I  might  find  her." 

He  looked  at  the  young  girl  incredulously. 

"Ain't  you  never  heard  of  her?"  he  de- 
manded. "  Why,  everybody  knew  her  at  Miss 
Bellairs's.  But  p'r'aps  " — in  a  relieved  sort  of 
way — "  p'r'aps  you  ain't  been  here  long.  This 
is  Ellen's  second  year." 

Miss  Arnold  felt  slightly  aggrieved.  "  I  am 
a  Senior,"  she  replied,  and  then  added  courte- 
ously, "  but  I  am  sure  the  loss  has  been  mine." 

She  could  not  make  this  man  out,  quite — he 
was  so  evidently  uncultivated,  so  rough  and 
even  uncouth,  and  yet  there  was  a  look  of  qui- 
et power  in  his  honest  eyes,  and  he  was  so 

247 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


unaffectedly  simple  and  kindly  that  she  in- 
stinctively recognized  the  innate  nobility  of 
his  character.  She  felt  interested  in  him,  but 
somewhat  puzzled  as  to  how  to  continue  the 
conversation,  and  so  she  turned  rather  help- 
lessly to  her  magazine. 

But  he  came  over  and  stood  beside  her, 
looking  down  wonderingly  at  the  unfamiliar 
words  and  accents. 

"  Can  you  read  all  that  ?  "  he  asked,  doubt- 

fully. 

Miss  Arnold  said  "Yes." 

"Jest  like  English?"  he  persisted. 

She  explained  that  she  had  had  a  French 
nurse  when  she  was  little,  and  afterward  a 
French  governess,  and  that  she  had  always 
spoken  French  as  she  had  English.  He  seemed 
to  be  immensely  impressed  by  that  and  looked 
at  her  very  intently  and  admiringly,  and  then  he 
suddenly  looked  away,  and  said,  in  a  changed 
tone : 

"I  never  hed  no  French  nurse  fur  Ellen. 
Lord!  it  wuz  hard  enough  to  get  any  kind  in 
them  days,"  he  said,  regretfully.  "But  she's 
been  studyin'  French  fur  two  years  now— 
p'rhaps  she  speaks  almost  as  good  as  you  do 
by  this  time — she's  mighty  smart." 

Miss  Arnold  looked  up  quickly  at  the  honest, 

248 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


kindly  face  above  her  with  the  hopeful  expres- 
sion in  the  eyes,  and  some  sudden  impulse  made 
her  say,  quite  cheerfully  and  assuringly,  "  Oh, 
yes — of  course." 

She  was  just  going  to  add  that  she  would  go 
to  the  office  and  send  someone  to  look  for  Miss 
Oldham,  when  a  slender,  rather  pretty  girl 
passed  the  library  door,  hesitated,  peering 
through  the  half-light,  and  then  came  swiftly 
toward  them. 

"With  a  cry  of  inexpressible  tenderness  and 
delight  the  old  man  sprang  toward  her. 

"  Ellen  !  "  he  said,  "  Ellen !  " 

She  clung  to  him  for  a  few  moments  and  then 
drew  off  rather  shyly  and  awkwardly,  with  a 
sort  of  mauvaise  honte  which  struck  disagreeably 
on  Miss  Arnold,  and  looked  inquiringly  and  al- 
most defiantly  from  her  father  to  the  girl  watch- 
ing them. 

"  This  young  woman,"  he  said,  understanding 
her  unspoken  inquiry,  "  has  been  very  kind  to 
me,  Ellen — we've  been  talkin'." 

Miss  Arnold  came  forward. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  be  friends,"  she  said, 
graciously.  "  I  am  Clara  Arnold.  Your  father 
tells  me  this  is  your  Sophomore  year." 

The  girl  met  her  advances  coldly  and  stiffly. 
She  had  never  met  Miss  Arnold  before,  but  she 

249 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


had  known  very  well  who  she  was,  and  she  had 
envied  her,  and  had  almost  disliked  her  for  her 
good  looks  and  her  wealth  and  her  evident  supe- 
riority. She  comprehended  that  this  girl  had 
been  born  to  what  she  had  longed  for  in  a  vague, 
impotent  way,  and  had  never  known.  She 
wished  that  Miss  Arnold  had  not  witnessed  the 
meeting  with  her  father — that  Miss  Arnold  had 
not  seen  her  father  at  all.  And  then,  with  the 
shame  at  her  unworthy  thoughts  came  a  rush  of 
pity  and  love  for  the  man  standing  there,  smil- 
ing so  patiently  and  so  tenderly  at  her.  She 
put  one  hand  on  his  arm  and  drew  herself  closer 
to  him. 

"  Father !  "  she  said. 

Miss  Arnold  stood  looking  at  them,  turning 
her  clear  eyes  from  one  to  the  other.  It  inter- 
ested her  tremendously — the  simple,  kindly  old 
man,  in  his  rough  clothes,  and  with  his  homely 
talk  and  his  fatherly  pride  and  happiness  in  the 
pretty,  irresolute-looking  girl  beside  him.  It 
occurred  to  her  suddenly,  with  a  thrill  of  pity 
for  herself,  that  she  had  never  seen  her  father 
look  at  her  in  that  way.  He  would  have  been 
inordinately  surprised  and — she  felt  sure — very 
much  annoyed,  if  she  had  ever  kissed  his  hand 
or  laid  her  head  on  his  arm  as  this  girl  was  now 
doing.  He  had  been  an  extremely  kind  and  con- 

250 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


siderate  father  to  her.  It  struck  her  for  the 
first  time  that  she  had  missed  something — that 
after  providing  the  rather  pretentiously  grand- 
looking  house  and  grounds,  and  the  servants 
and  carriages  and  conservatories,  her  father  had 
forgotten  to  provide  something  far  more  essen- 
tial. But  she  was  so  much  interested  in  the  two 
before  her  that  she  did  not  have  much  time  to 
think  of  herself.  She  concluded  that  she  did 
not  want  to  go  back  to  the  Scotch  celebrity,  and 
resolutely  ignored  the  surprised  looks  of  some 
of  her  friends  who  passed  the  library  door  and 
made  frantic  gestures  for  her  to  come  forth  and 
join  them.  But  when  they  had  moved  away  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  ought  to  leave  the  two 
together,  and  so  she  half  rose  to  go,  but  the 
man,  divining  her  intention,  said,  heartily : 

"  Don't  go — don't  go !  Ellen's  goin'  to  show 
me  about  this  big  college,  an'  we  want  you  to  go, 
too." 

He  was  speaking  to  Miss  Arnold,  but  his  eyes 
never  left  the  girl's  face  beside  him,  while  he 
gently  stroked  her  hair  as  if  she  had  been  a  lit- 
tle child. 

And  so  they  walked  up  and  down  the  long  li- 
brary, and  they  showed  him  the  Milton  shield, 
and  dragged  from  their  recesses  rare  books,  and 
pointed  out  the  pictures  and  autographs  of  dif- 

251 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bin/ 


ferent  celebrities.  He  seemed  very  much  inter- 
ested and  very  grateful  to  them  for  their  trou- 
ble, and  never  ashamed  to  own  how  new  it  all 
was  to  him  nor  how  ignorant  he  was,  and  he  did 
not  try  to  conceal  his  pride  in  his  daughter's 
education  and  mental  superiority  to  himself. 
And  when  Miss  Arnold  realized  that,  she  qui- 
etly effaced  herself  and  let  the  younger  girl  do 
all  the  honors,  only  helping  her  now  and  then 
with  suggestions  or  statistics. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  simply,  after  a 
lengthy  and,  as  it  seemed  to  Miss  Arnold,  a 
somewhat  fruitless  dissertation  on  the  splendid 
copy  of  the  "  Rubaiyat "  lying  before  them — 
"  you  see  I  don't  know  much  about  these  things. 
Never  hed  no  chance.  But  Ellen  knows,  so 
what's  the  use  of  my  knowin'  ?  She  can  put  her 
knowledge  to  use ;  but,  Lord !  I  couldn't  if  I 
hed  it. 

"  You  see  it  was  like  this,"  he  continued, 
cheerfully,  turning  to  Miss  Arnold,  while  the 
girl  at  his  side  raised  her  head  for  an  instant 
and  uttered  a  low  exclamation  of  protest.  "  We 
lived  out  West — in  a  minin'camp  in  Colorado — 
Bowlder  Bluff  wuz  its  name.  Awfully  lonesome 
place.  No  schools — nothin',  jest  the  store — my 
store — an'  the  mines  not  fur  off.  Ellen  wuz 
about  twelve  then  " — he  turned  inquiringly  to 

252 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


the  girl,  but  she  would  not  look  up — "about 
twelve,"  he  continued,  after  a  slight  pause,  and 
another  gentle  caress  of  the  brown  hair ;  "  an'  I 
hedn't  never  given  a  thought  to  wimmen's  eddi- 
cation,  an'  Ellen  here  wuz  jest  growin'  up  not 
knowin'  a  thing — except  how  I  loved  her  an' 
couldn't  bear  her  out  of  my  sight "  (with  another 
caress),  "  when  one  day  there  came  to  ther  camp 
a  college  chap.  He  wuz  an  English  chap,  an' 
he  wuz  hard-up.  But  he  wuz  a  gentleman  an' 
he'd  been  to  a  college — Oxford  wuz  the  name — 
an'  he  took  a  heap  of  notice  of  Ellen,  an'  said 
she  wuz  mighty  smart — yes,  Ellen,  even  then 
we  knew  you  wuz  smart — an'  that  she  ought  to 
have  schoolin'  an'  not  run  aroun'  the  camp  any 
more.  At  first  I  didn't  pay  no  attention  to  him. 
But  by  an'  by  his  views  did  seem  mighty  sensi- 
ble, an'  he  kep'  naggin  at  me.  He  used  to  talk 
to  me  about  it  continual,  an'  at  night  we'd  sit 
out  under  the  pines  and  talk — he  with  a  fur- 
away  sort  of  look  in  his  eyes  an'  the  smoke  curl- 
in'  up  from  his  pipe — an'  he'd  tell  me  what  ed- 
dication  meant  to  wimmen  —  independence  an' 
happiness  an'  all  that,  an'  he  insisted  fur  Ellen 
to  go  to  a  good  school.  He  said  there  wuz  big 
colleges  fur  wimmen  just  like  there  wuz  fur 
men,  an'  that  she  ought  to  have  a  chance  an'  go 
to  one. 

253 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


"  An'  then  he  would  read  us  a  lot  of  stuff  of 
evenin's — specially  poetry.  Shelley  in  particu- 
lar. And  yet  another  chap,  almost  better'n  Shel- 
ley. Keats  wuz  his  name.  P'rhaps  you've  read 
some  of  his  poetry  ?  "  he  inquired,  turning  po- 
litely to  Miss  Arnold.  Something  in  her  throat 
kept  her  from  speaking,  so  she  only  lowered  her 
head  and  looked  away  from  the  drawn,  averted 
face  of  the  girl  before  her.  "  He  wuz  great ! 
All  about  gods  an'  goddesses  an'  things  one 
don't  know  much  about ;  but  then,  as  I  take  it, 
poetry  always  seems  a  little  fur  off,  so  it  wuz 
kind  of  natural.  But  Shelley  wuz  our  favorite. 
He  used  to  read  us  soniethin'  about  the  wind. 
Regularly  fine — jest  sturred  us  up,  I  can  tell  you. 
We  knew  what  storms  an'  dead  leaves  an'  '  black 
rain  an'  fire  an'  hail '  wuz  out  on  them  lonesome 
mountains.  An'  sometimes  he'd  read  us  other 
things,  stories  from  magazines,  an'  books,  but  it 
kind  of  made  me  feel  lonesomer  than  ever. 

"  But  Ellen  here,  she  took  to  it  all  like  a  duck 
to  water,  an'  the  college  chap  kep'  insistin'  that 
she  ought  to  go  to  a  good  school,  an'  that  she 
showed  '  great  natural  aptitude  ' — them  wuz  his 
words — an'  that  she  might  be  famous  some  day, 
till  at  last  I  got  regularly  enthusiastic  about 
wimmen's  eddication,  an'  I  jest  determined  not 
to  waste  any  more  time,  an'  so  I  sent  her  to  Miss 

2S4 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


Bellairs's  at  Denver.  She  wuz  all  I  hed,  an' 
Lord  knows  I  hedn't  no  particular  reason  to  feel 
confidence  in  wimmen  folks  " — a  sudden,  curious, 
hard  expression  came  into  his  face  for  a  moment 
and  then  died  swiftly  away  as  he  turned  from 
Miss  Arnold  and  looked  at  the  girl  beside  him. 
"  But  I  sent  her,  an'  she  ain't  never  been  back 
to  the  camp,  an'  she's  been  all  I  ever  hoped 
she'd  be." 

They  had  passed  from  the  faintly  lighted  li- 
brary into  the  brilliant  corridors,  and  the  man, 
towering  in  rugged  strength  above  the  two  girls, 
cast  curious  glances  about  him  as  they  walked 
slowly  along.  Everything  seemed  to  interest 
him,  and  when  they  came  to  the  Greek  recita- 
tion-rooms he  insisted,  with  boyish  eagerness, 
upon  going  in,  and  the  big  photogravures  of  the 
Acropolis  and  the  charts  of  the  2Egean  Sea,  and 
even  a  passage  from  the  "  Seven  against  Thebes  " 
(copied  upon  the  walls  doubtless  by  some  un- 
lucky Sophomore),  and  which  was  so  hopelessly 
unintelligible  to  him,  seemed  to  fascinate  him. 
And  when  they  came  to  the  physical  laborato- 
ries he  took  a  wonderful,  and,  as  it  seemed  to 
Miss  Arnold,  an  almost  pathetic  interest  in  the 
spectroscopes  and  Ruhmkorff  coils,  and  the  bat- 
teries only  half-discernable  in  the  faintly  flaring 
lights. 

255 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


And  as  they  strolled  about  he  still  talked  of 
Ellen  and  himself  and  their  former  life,  and  the 
life  that  was  to  be — when  Ellen  should  become 
famous.  For  little  by  little  Miss  Arnold  com- 
prehended that  that  was  his  one  fixed  idea.  As 
he  talked,  slowly  it  came  to  her  what  this  man 
was,  and  what  his  life  had  been — how  he  had 
centred  every  ambition  on  the  girl  beside  him, 
separated  her  from  him,  at  what  cost  only  the 
mountain  pines  and  the  stars  which  had  wit- 
nessed his  nightly  struggles  with  himself  could 
tell;  how  he  had  toiled  and  striven  for  her 
that  she  might  have  the  education  he  had 
never  known.  She  began  to  understand  what 
"  going  to  college "  had  meant  to  this  girl 
and  this  man — to  this  man  especially.  It  had 
not  meant  the  natural  ending  of  a  preparatory 
course  at  some  school  and  a  something  to  be 
gone  through  with — creditably,  if  possible,  but 
also,  if  possible,  without  too  great  exertion  and 
with  no  expectation  of  extraordinary  results.  It 
had  had  a  much  greater  significance  to  them  than 
that.  It  had  been  regarded  as  an  event  of  in- 
calculable importance,  an  introduction  into  a 
new  world,  the  first  distinct  step  upon  the  road 
to  fame.  It  had  meant  to  them  what  a  titled 
offer  means  to  a  struggling  young  American 
beauty,  or  a  word  of  approbation  to  an  under- 

256 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


lieutenant  from  his  colonel,  or  a  successful 
maiden  speech  on  the  absorbing  topic  of  the 
day,  or  any  other  great  and  wonderful  happen- 
ing, with  greater  and  more  wonderful  possibili- 
ties hovering  in  the  background. 

She  began  to  realize  just  how  his  hopes  and  his 
ambitions  and  his  belief  in  this  girl  had  grown 
and  strengthened,  until  the  present  and  the 
future  held  nothing  for  him  but  her  happi- 
ness and  advancement  and  success.  It  was 
a  curious  idea,  a  strange  ambition  for  a  man 
of  his  calibre  to  have  set  his  whole  heart  upon, 
and  as  Miss  Arnold  looked  at  the  girl  who 
was  to  realize  his  hopes,  a  sharp  misgiving 
arose  within  her  and  she  wondered,  with  sud- 
den fierce  pity,  why  God  had  not  given  this  man 
a  son. 

But  Ellen  seemed  all  he  wanted.  He  told,  in 
a  proud,  apologetic  sort  of  way,  while  the  girl 
protested  with  averted  eyes,  how  she  had  al- 
ways been  "  first "  at  "  Miss  Bellairs's  "  and  that 
he  supposed  "  she  stood  pretty  well  up  in  her 
classes"  at  college.  And  Miss  Arnold  looked 
at  the  white,  drawn  face  of  the  girl  and  said, 
quite  steadily,  she  had  no  doubt  but  that  Miss 
Oldham  was  a  fine  student.  She  was  an  ex- 
ceptionally truthful  girl,  but  she  was  proud  and 
glad  to  have  said  that  when  she  saw  the  look  of 

257 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


happiness  that  kindled  on  the  face  of  the  man. 
Yet  she  felt  some  compunctions  when  she  noted 
how  simply  and  unreservedly  he  took  her  into 
his  confidence. 

And  what  he  told  her  was  just  such  a  story 
as  almost  all  mothers  and  fathers  tell— of  the 
precocious  and  wonderful  intellect  of  their 
children  and  the  great  hopes  they  have  of  them. 
But  with  this  man  it  was  different  in  some  way. 
He  was  so  deeply  in  earnest  and  so  hopeful  and 
so  tender  that  Miss  Arnold  could  scarcely  bear 
it.  "  Ellen  "  was  to  be  a  poet;  Had  she  not 
written  verses  when  she  was  still  a  girl,  and  had 
not  the  "college  chap"  and  her  teachers  de- 
clared she  had  great  talents  ?  Wait — he  would 
let  Miss  Arnold  judge  for  herself.  Only  lately 
he  had  written  to  Ellen,  asking  her  if  she  still  re- 
membered their  lonely  mountain-home,  and  she 
had  sent  him  this.  They  had  strolled  down 
the  corridor  to  one  of  the  winding  stairways 
at  the  end:  He  drew  from  his  large  leather 
purse  a  folded  paper.  The  girl  watched  him 
open  it  with  an  inexpressible  fear  in  her  eyes, 
and  when  she  saw  what  it  was  she  started  for- 
ward with  a  sort  of  gasp,  and  then  turned 
away  and  steadied  herself  against  the  balus- 
trade. 

He  spread    out  the  paper  with  exaggerated 

258 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


care,  and  read,  with  the  monotonously  painful 
intonations  of  the  unpractised  reader  : 

"  Ye  storm-winds  of  Autumn  I 

Who  rush  by,  who  shake 
The  window,  and  ruffle 

The  gleam-lighted  lake ; 
"Who  cross  to  the  hill-side 

Thin  sprinkled  with  farms, 
Where  the  high  woods  strip  sadly 

Their  yellow  arms — 
Ye  are  bound  for  the  mountains  ! 

Oh !  with  you  let  me  go 
Where  your  cold,  distant  barrier, 

The  vast  range  of  snow, 
Through  the  loose  clouds  lifts  dimly 

Its  white  peaks  in  air — 
How  deep  is  their  stillness  ! 

Ah  !  would  I  were  there  I  " 

As  he  read,  Miss  Arnold  turned  her  eyes, 
burning  with  an  unutterable  indignation  and 
scorn,  upon  the  girl,  but  the  mute  misery  and 
awful  supplication  in  her  face  checked  the  words 
upon  her  lips.  When  he  had  finished  reading, 
Miss  Arnold  murmured  something,  she  hardly 
knew  what,  but  he  would  not  let  her  off  so  easily. 

What  did  she  think  of  it  ? — did  she  not  think 
he  ought  to  be  proud  of  Ellen?  and  was  the 
"gleam-lighted  lake  "the  lake  they  could  see 
from  the  piazza  ? 

259 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


He  ran  on,  taking  it  for  granted  that  Miss 
Arnold  was  interested  in  his  hopes  and  dreams, 
and  almost  without  waiting  for  or  expecting  re- 
plies. And  at  last  he  told  her  the  great  secret. 
Ellen  was  writing  a  book.  He  spoke  of  it  almost 
with  awe — in  a  suppressed  sort  of  fashion.  She 
had  not  told  him  yet  much  about  it,  but  he 
seemed  wholly  confident  in  its  future  success. 
He  wondered  which  of  the  big  publishing 
houses  would  want  it  most. 

Miss  Arnold  gave  a  quick  gasp  of  relief. 
There  was  more  to  this  girl,  then,  than  she 
had  dared  to  hope.  She  glanced  eagerly  and  ex- 
pectantly toward  her,  and  in  that  one  look  she 
read  the  whole  pitiable  lie.  Ellen  was  looking 
straight  ahead  of  her,  and  the  hopeless  misery 
and  shame  in  her  eyes  Miss  Arnold  never  for- 
got. All  the  pretty,  weak  curves  about  the 
mouth  and  chin  had  settled  into  hard  lines, 
and  a  nameless  fear  distorted  every  feature. 
But  the  man  seemed  to  notice  nothing,  and 
walked  on  with  head  uplifted  and  a  proud,  al- 
most inspired  look  upon  his  rugged  face. 

"  When  will  the  book  be  finished,  Ellen  ?  "  he 
asked,  at  length. 

The  girl  looked  up,  and  Miss  Arnold  noted 
with  amazement  her  wonderful  control. 

"  It  will  not  be  very  long  now,  father,"  she 

260 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


replied.  She  was  acting  her  difficult  part  very 
perfectly.  It  occurred  to  Miss  Arnold  that  for 
many  years  this  girl  had  been  so  acting,  and  as 
she  looked  at  the  strong,  quiet  features  of  the 
man  she  shuddered  slightly  and  wondered  how 
it  would  be  with  her  when  he  knew. 

When  the  carriage  which  was  to  take  him  to 
the  station  for  the  midnight  train  into  Boston 
had  driven  from  the  door,  the  two  girls  looked 
at  each  other  steadily  for  an  instant. 

"  Come  to  my  study  for  a  few  moments,"  said 
the  younger  one,  imperiously.  Miss  Arnold  ac- 
quiesced silently,  and  together  they  moved  down 
the  long  corridor  to  Miss  Oldham's  rooms. 

"  I  want  to  explain,"  she  began,  breathlessly, 
leaning  against  the  closed  door  and  watching 
with  strained,  wide-opened  eyes  Miss  Arnold's 
face,  upon  which  the  light  from  the  lamp  fell 
strong  and  full. 

"  I  want  to  explain,"  she  repeated,  defiantly 
this  time.  "  You  had  no  right  to  come  between 
myself  and  my  father !  I  wish  with  all  my  heart 
you  had  never  seen  him,  but  since  you  have  seen 
him  I  must  explain.  I  am  not  entirely  the 
hypocrite  and  the  coward  you  take  me  for." 
She  stopped  suddenly  and  gave  a  low  cry. 
"  Ah !  what  shall  I  say  to  make  you  understand  ? 

261 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 

It  began  so  long  ago — I  did  not  mean  to  deceive 
him.  It  was  because  I  loved  him  and  he 
thought  me  so  clever.  He  thought  because  I 
•was  quick  and  bright,  and  because  I  was  hav- 
ing a  college  education,  that  I  was — different. 
In  his  ignorance  how  could  he  guess  the  great 
difference  between  a  superficial  aptitude  and 
real  talents  ?  How  could  I  tell  him — how  could 
I,"  with  a  despairing  gesture,  "that  I  was  just 
like  thousands  of  other  girls,  and  that  there  are 
hundreds  right  here  in  this  college  who  are  my 
superiors  in  every  way  ?  It  would  have  broken 
his  heart."  Her  breath  came  in  short  gasps 
and  the  pallor  of  her  face  had  changed  to  a  dull 
red. 

Miss  Arnold  leaned  forward  on  the  table. 

"You  have  grossly  deceived  him,"  she  said, 
in  cold,  even  tones. 

"  Deceived  him  ?  —  yes  —  a  thousand  times 
and  in  a  thousand  ways.  But  I  did  it  to  make 
him  happy.  Am  I  really  to  blame?  He  ex- 
pected so  much  of  me — he  had  such  hopes  and 
such  dreams  of  some  great  career  for  me.  I  am 
a  coward.  I  could  not  tell  him  that  I  was  a 
weak,  ordinary  girl,  that  I  could  never  realize 
his  aspirations,  that  the  mere  knowledge  that  he 
depended  and  relied  upon  me  weighed  upon  me 
and  paralyzed  every  effort.  When  I  loved  him 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


so  could  I  tell  him  this  ?  Could  I  tell  him  that 
his  sacrifices  were  in  vain,  that  the  girl  of  whom 
he  had  boasted  to  every  man  in  the  mining 
camp  was  a  complete  failure  ?  " 

She  went  over  to  the  table  and  leaned  her 
head  upon  her  shaking  hand. 

"  If  my  mother — if  I  had  had  a  brother  or 
sister,  it  might  have  been  different,  but  I  was 
alone  and  I  was  all  he  had.  And  so  I  struggled  on, 
half  hoping  that  I  might  become  something  after 
all.  But  I  confessed  to  myself  what  I  could  not  to 
him,  that  I  would  never  become  a  scholar,  that 
my  intellect  was  wholly  superficial,  that  the 
verses  I  wrote  were  the  veriest  trash,  that  I  was 
only  doing  what  ninety-nine  out  of  every  hun- 
dred girls  did,  and  that  ninety-eight  wrote  better 
rhymes  than  I.  There  is  a  whole  drawerful  of 
my  '  poetry ' '  — she  flung  open  a  desk  disdain- 
fully— "until  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and 
one  day  when  he  asked  me  to  write  something 
about  the  mountains,  in  desperation  I  copied 
those  verses  of  Matthew  Arnold's.  I  knew  he 
would  never  see  them.  After  that  it  was  easy 
to  do  so  again."  She  stopped  and  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  the  most  miserable  girl  that  lives,"  she 
said. 

Miss  Arnold  looked  at  her  coldly. 

263 


Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


"  And  the  book  ?  "  she  said  at  length. 

Miss  Oldham  lifted  her  head  wearily. 

"  It  was  all  a  falsehood.  He  kept  asking  me 
if  I  were  not  writing  a  book.  He  thought  one 
had  only  to  write  a  book  to  become  famous.  It 
seemed  so  easy  not  to  oppose  the  idea,  and  little 
by  little  I  fell  into  the  habit  of  talking  about '  the 
book '  as  if  it  were  really  being  written.  I  did 
not  try  to  explain  to  myself  what  I  was  doing. 
I  simply  drifted  with  the  current  of  his  desires 
and  hopes.  It  may  seem  strange  to  you  that  a 
man  like  my  father  should  have  had  such  ambi- 
tions, and  stranger  still  that  he  should  have  ever 
dreamed  I  could  realize  them.  But  one  has 
strange  fancies  alone  with  one's  self  out  on  the 
mountains,  and  the  isolation  and  self-concentra- 
tion of  the  life  give  an  intensity  to  any  desire  or 
expectation  that  you,  who  live  in  an  ever-chang- 
ing world,  cannot  understand." 

Miss  Arnold  looked  at  the  girl  curiously.  She 
wondered  for  the  first  time  if  there  was  any  ex- 
cuse for  her.  She  had  a  singularly  strong  moral 
nature  herself,  and  she  could  not  quite  under- 
stand this  girl's  weakness  and  deceit.  The  fact 
that  she  loved  her  father  so  deeply  only  added 
to  the  mystery. 

She  arose.  "If  I  were  you" — she  began, 
coldly,  but  Miss  Oldham  stopped  her. 

2C4 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


"It  is  all  finished  now,"  she  said.  She,  too, 
had  arisen,  and  was  standing  against  the  door, 
looking  down  and  speaking  in  the  monotonous 
tone  of  someone  reciting  a  lesson. 

"  I  have  decided,  and  I  shall  go  to  my  father, 
and  I  shall  say,  '  I  have  deceived  you ;  I  have 
neither  courage  nor  honesty.  There  might  have 
been  an  excuse  for  another  girl — a  girl  who  did 
not  understand  you  or  who  did  not  love  you,  or 
who  did  not  know  just  how  much  her  success 
meant  to  you.  For  me  there  is  none.  I,  who 
knew  how  strange  the  idea  at  first  seemed  to 
you  of  your  daughter's  being  an  educated,  ac- 
complished girl ;  I,  who  knew  how  little  by  little 
the  idea  became  a  passion  with  you,  how  proud 
and  how  fond  you  were  of  her,  how  you  worked 
and  prayed  that  she  might  be  something  differ- 
ent and  better  than  the  rest — I,  who  knew  all 
this,  have  still  deceived  you.  There  is  but  one 
thing  I  dare  ask  you,  Will  you  not  let  me  go 
back  to  the  mountain  with  you,  and  serve  you  and 
be  to  you  the  daughter  I  have  not  been  as  yet  ?  " 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  at  Miss  Ar- 
nold. 

"That  is  what  I  must  do,  is  it  not?"  she 
asked,  dully. 

Miss  Arnold  went  over  to  her. 

"  That  is  what  you  must  do,"  she  said,  gently. 

265 


The  Genius  of  Bowlder  Bluff 


It  was  almost  two  weeks  later  when  Miss  Ar- 
nold, coming  in  from  a  long  walk,  found  a  letter 
lying  on  her  table.  It  bore  an  unfamiliar  post- 
mark, and  the  superscription  had  evidently  been 
written  in  great  haste  or  agitation.  She  tore  it 
open  with  a  feeling  of  apprehension. 

"My  punishment  has  come  upon  me,"  it  ran. 
"  My  father  is  dead.  I  got  a  telegram  at  Den- 
ver— they  met  me  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
I  cannot  say  anything  now.  As  yet  I  have  but 
one  thought  and  one  comfort — he  never  knew ! 
Think  of  me  as  you  will — I  am  glad  he  never 
did! 

"E.  O." 


266 


TIME  AND  TIDE 


TIME   AND   TIDE 

IT  was  the  usual  scene  at  College  theatricals. 
There  was  the  inevitable  six-foot  tenor  in  a 
white  muslin  dress,  abnormally  long  blond  plaits, 
and  a  high  falsetto  which  would  descend  every 
now  and  then  into  a  barytone ;  and  there  was 
the  German  bass-villain  who  took  unpardonable 
liberties  with  the  tenor-maiden,  considering  the 
latter's  muscular  superiority ;  and  there  was  the 
wicked  and  beautiful  maid  with  very  much 
blackened  eyebrows  and  very  much  rouged 
cheeks,  who  forgot  every  now  and  then  and 
winked  knowingly  at  some  particular  chum  in 
the  audience ;  and  there  were  the  usual  hitches 
in  the  curtain,  and  the  heat  and  lights,  and 
crowds  of  students  and  rapt  young  women  from 
neighboring  institutions  of  learning,  who  were 
gazing  with  mingled  admiration  and  pity  at  the 
wonderfully  large  hands  and  feet  of  the  prima- 
donna  and  soubrette. 

Every  now  and  then,  chinks  of  daylight  came 
in  from  lifted  blinds,  damaging  the  looks  of  the 
tenor's  complexion  considerably,  and  the  German 

269 


Time  and  Tide 


villain  was  getting  hoarse,  and  the  ballet  refused 
to  repeat  the  "  butterfly  "  dance,  and  the  student 
enthusiasm  was  beginning  to  flag.  At  last,  how- 
ever, the  finale  came.  The  tenor  fell  happily,  if 
a  trifle  heavily,  into  the  arms  of  the  barytone, 
whose  operatic  raison-d'etre  had  up  to  that  mo- 
ment been  rather  obscure,  the  German  villain 
gave  a  last  gasp,  and  the  chorus  came  out  firm 
and  strong  on  the  pretty  refrain,  and  then  every- 
body got  up  and  walked  about,  and  the  men  in- 
troduced their  friends  to  the  young  women  with 
them,  and  everybody  said  it  was  a  great  success, 
if  a  trifle  warm,  and  then  they  all  went  home  and 
said  it  wasn't  as  good  as  "  last  year's." 

Miss  Elise  Ronald  and  her  chaperon  and  party 
stood  near  the  door,  talking  to  several  men,  and 
waiting  for  the  tenor,  who  was  a  particular  friend 
and  who  had  invited  them  over.  It  seemed  to 
them  that  he  was  a  great  while  making  his  ap- 
pearance, and  they  were  very  anxious  to  know 
what  he  was  doing.  They  would  have  been 
much  shocked  if  they  had  known.  Mr.  Perry 
Cunningham  was  swearing.  In  his  frantic  hurry 
to  get  out  of  the  extraordinary  muslin  dress  and 
blond  wig,  and  wash  the  paint  and  mongolian 
and  pearl  powder  off  his  face,  everything  seemed 
to  have  gone  wrong.  To  add  to  the  excitement 
and  worry  his  "  dresser  "  had  misplaced  some  of 

270 


Time  and  Tide 


his  things,  and  the  stage-manager  was  trying  to 
buttonhole  him  to  talk  business. 

The  chaperon,  who  was  tired  standing,  said  she 
would  walk  on  with  the  rest,  and  that  Miss  Ron- 
ald would  please  follow  the  moment  Mr.  Cun- 
ningham arrived.  So  the  girl  said  "  yes  "  veiy 
obediently,  and  was  left  standing,  talking  with 
her  brother  and  a  youthful  freshman  who  had 
asked  to  be  presented.  As  time  passed  and  no 
Mr.  Perry  Cunningham  appeared,  Miss  Ronald 
delicately  hinted  to  her  brother  that  he  had  best 
hunt  him  up  and  tell  him  that  she  was  waiting ; 
but  that  amiable  youth,  with  delightful  optimism, 
assured  his  sister  warmly  that  "Cunningham 
would  soon  be  out  of  his  fancy  togs  and  would 
turn  up  all  right,"  and  disappeared  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Hemenway. 

It  was  only  a  short  while  later  that  Mr.  Cun- 
ningham did  come  up,  breathless  and  profusely 
apologetic,  and  the  freshman  with  rare  discreet- 
ness, divining  that  his  presence  was  not  abso- 
lutely necessary,  bowed  and  moved  off. 

"Awfully  sorry,  Miss  Ronald,"  gasped  Cun- 
ningham, "  'spect  I  kept  you  waitin'  an  awful 
time.  That — that  '  dresser '  of  mine  put  half  my 
things  with  another  fellow's  and  I  had  a  time 
getting  them  straight." 

Miss  Ronald  said  it  did  not  matter  and  that 

271 


Time  and  Tide 


the  chaperon  had  gone  on  with  the  rest,  and  that 
they  were  to  catch  up. 

"  You  know  we  must  get  that  5.50  train  back 
to  the  College,"  she  explained.  So  they  strolled 
up  Harvard  Square,  and  Miss  Ronald  assured 
Cunningham  that  his  solo  in  the  second  act  was 
the  gem  of  the  operetta,  and  Cunningham  was 
saying  impressively  that  he  was  glad  she  liked  it, 
when  it  occurred  to  both  of  them  that  the  chap- 
eron and  the  rest  of  the  party  had  somehow  dis- 
appeared. 

"  Did  they  intend  getting  the  train  in  Boston 
or  going  over  to  Allston  for  it  ?  "  asked  Cun- 
ningham. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Ronald, 
helplessly.  "  How  stupid  of  me  —  I  never 
thought  to  ask  !  " 

Cunningham  said  it  would  be  rather  easier,  he 
thought,  to  get  over  to  Allston,  and  that  they  had 
probably  gone  that  way.  So  they  boarded  a  car 
and  got  to  Allston  at  ten  minutes  of  six — "  ex- 
cellent time,"  as  Cunningham  remarked  walking 
inside  the  station  to  buy  the  tickets.  He  was 
gone  so  long  that  Miss  Ronald  started  in  after 
him,  fearing  every  minute  to  hear  the  train 
come  thundering  up.  When  she  saw  him  she 
knew  by  his  face  that  something  was  the  matter. 

"  The  ticket-man  has  just  told  me  this  con- 

272 


Time  and  Tide 


founded  train  doesn't  stop  at  Allston,"  he  said, 
coming  quickly  toward  her.  "  It's  an  outrage — 
the  company  oughtn't  to  run  its  trains  so  ir- 
regularly. It's  a  beastly  shame !  How's  a  per- 
son going  to  remember  where  a  train  stops  and 
where  it  doesn't  ?  "  he  added  excitedly,  and  a 
trifle  vaguely. 

Miss  Konald  was  very  much  disturbed  and  a 
little  indignant.  Cunningham  felt  very  sorry 
for  the  girl  and  inclined  to  blame  himself  for  the 
mistake,  but  Miss  Eonald  assured  him  that  it 
was  not  his  fault,  and  that  what  he  had  to  do 
now  was  to  think  how  best  they  could  get  back 
to  the  College.  It  was  while  they  were  stand- 
ing on  the  platform  "thinking,"  that  the  5.50 
from  Boston  rushed  by  and  they  caught  sight  of 
the  anxious  face  of  the  chaperon  at  the  win- 
dow. 

"  Nice  people  to  go  off  and  leave  me  this  way," 
soliloquized  Miss  Ronald,  indignantly.  Cun- 
ningham walked  inside  to  scrutinize  the  time- 
table. When  he  came  out  his  face  wore  so  hope- 
ful an  expression  that  Miss  Ronald  brightened 
visibly.  "I  have  a  scheme,"  he  declared. 
"  There's  a  train  into  Boston  that  comes  along 
in  fifteen  minutes  and  that  will  get  us  in  there 
at  6.25 — too  late  to  get  the  6.22  out ;  but  we  can 
go  to  the  Thorndyke  and  have  a  little  dinner, 

273 


Time  and  Tide 


and  catch  the  7.30  which  will  get  you  to  'the 
College '  at  8.17.  You  see  it  would  take  us  at 
least  two  hours  to  drive  over,  so  that  by  iny 
plan  we  shall  have  our  dinner  and  get  back  as 
soon  as  if  we  started  now  with  a  trap.  And  if 
you  will  wait  here  a  minute,  I'll  telegraph  your 
chaperon  that  we  will  be  out  on  the  7.30,  so  she 
won't  be  uneasy  about  you." 

He  was  so  evidently  pleased  and  relieved 
with  his  arrangement  that  Miss  Ronald  hadn't 
the  heart  to  offer  any  objections.  They  got  up 
to  the  Thorndyke  and  secured  a  delightful  table 
by  an  open  window,  and  by  the  time  they  had 
ordered  a  rather  elaborate  dinner,  Miss  Ronald's 
righteous  indignation  at  her  abandonment  by 
the  chaperon  had  stifled  any  feelings  of  remorse 
at  her  consent  to  Cunningham's  "  scheme."  So 
they  ate  in  peace  and  talked  about  the  operetta 
and  their  friends,  and  she  was  enjoying  it  all 
immensely,  and  had  quite  forgotten  her  anxiety 
to  get  back  to  College  and  her  keen  doubts 
about  the  propriety  of  the  adventure,  when  her 
eyes  happened  to  fall  upon  a  bronze  clock  on 
the  mantel  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  she 
gave  a  little  cry  of  dismay.  Cunningham  fol- 
lowed the  direction  of  her  gaze  and  said  "by 
Jove  "  under  his  breath  in  a  very  forcible  sort  of 
way.  He  pulled  out  his  watch  aiid  found  it 

274 


Time  and  Tide 


tallied  uncompromisingly  with  the  clock.  He 
beckoned  sharply  to  the  waiter. 

"  Is  that  clock  exactly  right  ?  "  he  demanded, 
excitedly.  The  waiter  assured  him  that  the 
clock's  record  was  unimpeachable. 

"  There  is  simply  no  use  trying  to  make  that 
7.30  in  three  minutes,  Miss  Ronald,"  remarked 
the  youth,  mournfully.  "It's  all  my  fault.  I 
was  enjoying  myself  so  much  that  I  never 
noticed  how  late  it  was,"  he  went  on,  remorse- 
fully. "  Now  I  suppose  you'll  be  in  no  end  of 
a  scrape.  What  do  they  do  to  you  when  you 
come  in  late  ?  Send  you  to  the  dean  ?  " 

His  evident  anxiety  and  utter  ignorance  of 
the  rules  of  the  College  would  have  amused  Miss 
Eonald  if  she  had  not  been  so  hopelessly  de- 
jected. As  it  was,  she  made  an  heroic  effort  to 
brighten  up  and  smiled  sadly  at  Cunningham. 
"  No — they  only  put  us  on  bread  and  water  for 
a  week,"  she  said,  at  which  feeble  attempt  at  a 
joke  they  both  laughed  miserably. 

Cunningham  called  the  waiter  again. 

"  Bring  me  a  Boston  and  Albany  time-table," 
he  said.  When  the  man  came  back  with  the 
precious  bit  of  paper,  the  girl  and  the  youth  bent 
anxiously  over  it. 

"  There's  a  train  at  nine  o'clock  and  one  at 
nine -thirty,"  he  said.  "  The  nine  o'clock  is  a 

275 


Time  and  Tide 


slow  train,  stops  everywhere,  and  only  gets  you 
to  the  College  ten  minutes  sooner  than  the  other." 

Miss  Ronald  looked  so  miserable  that  Cun- 
ningham began  to  feel  very  desperate  indeed. 
He  determined  to  do  something  to  lighten  her 
despair. 

"  Suppose  we  go  up-town  and  see  Sothern  in 
' Sheridan ? '"  he  suggested.  "  We  can  get  down 
to  the  station  for  the  nine-thirty,  and  we  can 
see  the  first  two  acts.  It's  a  charming  play — 
ever  seen  it  ?  " 

Miss  Eonald  said  "  No — o,"  and  was  not  sure 
that  they  had  better  go  to  the  theatre,  but  she 
did  not  wish  to  go  to  any  of  her  friends  and  tell 
them  of  her  rather  ridiculous  predicament,  and 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  consent  to  the 
theatre  plan.  So  Cunningham  called  for  the  bill 
and  they  strolled  slowly  up  to  the  theatre  to  kill 
time.  They  took  seats  far  back  so  as  to  be  able 
to  escape  easily.  "  Sheridan  "  is  a  very  pretty 
play,  as  everyone  knows,  but  Cunningham  felt  so 
responsible  for  the  girl  that  he  was  much  too 
nervous  properly  to  appreciate  it.  He  saw, 
however,  that  Miss  Konald  was  enjoying  her- 
self very  much,  and  he  decided  to  stay  till  the 
last  moment,  but  kept  his  watch  open  in  his 
hand  for  fear  of  running  over  the  time.  He 
knew  they  could  get  to  Kneeland  Street  in 

276 


Time  and  Tide 


seven  or  eight  minutes  with  a  cab,  and  so,  at 
exactly  fifteen  minutes  after  nine,  he  arose  and 
told  Miss  Ronald  it  was  time  to  go.  They 
wasted  a  few  moments  getting  out,  and  then 
Cunningham  called  a  cab  and  told  the  driver  to 
go  to  the  Boston  and  Albany  station  as  fast  as 
he  could. 

It  may  have  been  these  unfortunate  direc- 
tions, or  it  may  have  been  Fate — at  any  rate,  at 
the  corner  of  "Washington  and  Essex  Streets 
there  was  a  sudden  commotion  and  noise ;  Cun- 
ningham and  Miss  Ronald  felt  a  terrible  jolt,  and 
a  great  many  people  seemed  to  have  sprung  sud- 
denly out  of  the  earth  and  to  be  asking  them  if 
they  were  hurt.  As  they  were  not  at  all  hurt  they 
were  rather  indignant,  and  Cunningham  jumped 
impatiently  out  of  the  cab  to  see  what  all  the 
fuss  was  about.  He  was  not  long  in  ignorance. 
The  horse  lay  on  its  side  with  a  broken  shaft 
sticking  up  and  the  harness  half  off  him.  The 
coachmau  was  swearing  impartially  at  the  peo- 
ple about  him,  and  an  ice-wagon  with  which  the 
cab  had  collided  stood  by  unhurt,  the  driver  of 
it  in  a  hopeless  state  of  intoxication  and  wrath. 
Cunningham  looked  anxiously  around  him,  and 
to  his  consternation  not  another  cab  was  in  sight. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  lull  in  the  traffic  of  the 
street,  and  very  few  people  or  vehicles  were  to 

377 


Time  and  Tide 


be  seen  except  those  collected  around  the  scene 
of  the  accident.  The  two  drivers  were  wrang- 
ling and  swearing  at  each  other,  so  that  nothing 
was  to  be  got  out  of  them.  Cunningham  made 
use  of  some  strong  language  for  his  private  satis- 
faction. He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  twen- 
ty-five minutes  after  nine,  and  they  would  have 
been  at  the  station  if  the  break-down  had  not 
occurred.  He  went  quickly  back  to  the  cab. 

"Miss  Ronald,"  he  said,  "  the  horse  has  fallen 
down  and  broken  the  shaft.  There  isn't  an- 
other cab  in  sight,  and  we  mustn't  waste  any 
time  getting  away,  or  the  police  may  detain  us 
to  tell  what  we  know  of  the  accident.  I  don't 
see  anything  to  do  but  to  run  for  it,"  he  added, 
with  a  frantic  attempt  to  speak  cheerfully. 

The  girl  got  quickly  out  of  the  cab.  "  This 
is  terrible,  Mr.  Cunningham,"  she  gasped.  "  We 
must  catch  that  nine-thirty  train.  The  College 
is  locked  at  ten  o'clock,  and  I  am  obliged  to  be 
there  by  that  time." 

Cunningham  grabbed  her  hand  firmly  in  his. 
"  Now  run ! "  he  said.  There  were  a  great 
many  people  who  stopped  to  look  at  the  two 
figures  tearing  down  Washington  Street,  and 
they  particularly  enlisted  the  sympathetic  at- 
tention of  a  great  many  small  boys  along  the 
way.  One  policeman,  thinking  it  was  a  case  of 

278 


Time  and  Tide 


abduction,  started  after  them  but  gave  up  the 
chase  before  long,  having  never  gone  in  much 
for  sprinting,  and  it  being  an  unusually  warm 
night  in  May.  It  was  indeed  a  rather  uncom- 
mon sight.  The  girl's  clothes  and  correct  air 
made  her  particularly  noticeable,  while  Cunning- 
ham in  a  silk  hat,  Bond  Street  coat,  and  patent 
leathers,  was  a  conspicuous  object  as  he  swung 
lightly  down  the  street  under  the  lamps  and 
electric  lights. 

When  they  turned  into  Kneeland  Street,  the 
girl's  courage  and  strength  failed  her.  Knee- 
land  Street  itself  is  a  disgrace  to  Boston.  It  is 
not  by  any  means  the  street  a  young  man  would 
choose  to  walk  on  with  a  young  lady  in  the  even- 
ing— indeed  it  is  not  the  street  one  would  choose 
to  walk  on  in  broad  daylight  with  a  policeman  in 
hailing  distance.  Cunningham  could  have  cursed 
himself  for  the  whole  thing.  He  drew  the  girl 
closer  to  him  and  walked  swiftly  on.  When 
they  got  in  sight  of  the  station  he  glanced  fear- 
fully at  the  big  clock.  It  stood  at  exactly  half 
after  nine,  but  he  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that  the  outside  clock  is  always  fast, 
though  he  was  not  sure  just  how  much. 

"  Can  you  run  any  more  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously 
of  the  girl.  For  answer  she  started  ahead  fever- 
ishly. 

279 


Time  and  Tide 


The  man  was  locking  the  gate.  "  Can't  open 
it — train  just  pulled  out."  Cunningham  looked 
viciously  at  the  official. 

"  Can't  you  whistle  her  back  ?  "  he  demanded, 
furiously.  The  man  smiled  derisively,  and  com- 
menced talking  to  a  trainman  who  sauntered  up 
just  then  with  an  oil-can  and  hammer  in  his  hand. 
Cunningham  went  back  to  where  Miss  Ronald 
was  standing.  The  girl  burst  out  laughing  some- 
what hysterically. 

""We  need  a  chaperon  badly,  Mr.  Cunning- 
ham," she  said,  nervously.  "We  don't  seem 
able  to  take  care  of  ourselves  at  all." 

"Yes,"  assented  Cunningham,  gloomily.  "It 
seems  easy  enough  in  the  abstract  to  catch  a 
train,  but  some  way  we  don't  seem  to  understand 
quite  how  it's  done,"  he  added,  ironically.  "I 
will  go  and  find  out  when  the  next  train  leaves, 
and  may  be  if  we  are  careful  and  start  for  it  an 
hour  before  time,  and  if  the  station  doesn't  burn 
up,  or  all  the  cab  horses  fall  down  dead,  or  the 
trains  stop  running,  we  may  be  able  to  make  it." 

Cunningham  walked  up  to  the  ticket-agent. 
"When  is  the  next  train  out?"  he  demanded, 
sternly. 

The  man  glanced  up  impatiently  from  a  cal- 
culation he  was  making  and  said,  shortly  — 
"11.10." 

280 


Time  and  Tide 


Cunningham  strolled  back  to  the  girl.  "  It  is 
obviously  impossible  to  wait  here  an  hour  and 
forty  minutes,"  he  said.  "  Suppose  we  go  back 
to  the  theatre  and  see  the  last  act.  We've  only 
missed  one  act  at  most,  and  the  last  is  the  pret- 
tiest of  all." 

Miss  Ronald  was  too  miserable  to  object  or 
make  any  suggestions,  so  they  got  into  a  cab 
and  Cunningham  gave  minute  instructions  to  the 
driver  not  to  fall  off  the  box  and  kill  himself,  or 
let  the  horse  walk  out  of  the  harness,  and  to  be 
particularly  careful  about  the  wheels  coming  off, 
and  not  to  try  to  demolish  any  ice-wagons  that 
might  be  harmlessly  roving  the  streets.  The 
driver  took  these  remarks  good-humoredly,  but 
was  naturally  much  mystified,  and  after  think- 
ing it  over  concluded  that  Cunningham  was 
either  very  drunk  or  very  crazy. 

They  got  back  to  the  theatre  in  a  short  time 
and  saw  the  success  of  "  The  Rivals,"  and  the 
duel  and  the  just  exposure  of  the  infamous  Mat- 
thews, and  wished  heartily  that  their  affairs  were 
as  happily  wound  up  as  those  of  the  fair  Miss 
Linley  and  Sheridan. 

It  was  just  ten  minutes  of  eleven  when  they 
started  back  for  the  Boston  and  Albany  station. 
Cunningham  had  retained  the  cab  they  had  como 
in  and  had  given  still  further  and  more  minute 

281 


Time  and  Tide 


directions  to  the  driver,  so  that  as  they  settled 
themselves  back  on  the  stuffy  cushions,  they 
thought  they  could  reasonably  hope  to  get  the 
train  in  time  and  safety.  When  they  entered 
the  waiting-room  Miss  Ronald  saw  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  that  it  was  just  eleven  o'clock.  There 
was  plenty  of  time,  and  it  was  with  a  somewhat 
triumphant  air  of  having  conquered  immense 
difficulties,  of  having  fought  bravely  a  hard 
fight,  that  Cunningham  walked  up  once  more  to 
the  ticket-office. 

"Two  tickets,  please,"  he  said  briskly  as  he 
handed  out  a  dollar  bill.  The  man  looked  at 
him  for  a  moment  as  if  making  an  effort  to  re- 
member where  he  had  seen  him  before. 

"This  is  the  through  express  to  New  York. 
You'll  need  more  stuff  than  that  to  get  two 
tickets,"  he  said,  jocosely. 

"  You  told  me  " — gasped  Cunningham. 

"Yes,"  asserted  the  man.  "You  asked  me 
when  the  next  train  went  out  and  I  told  you.  Of 
course  1  thought  you  knew  where  you  wore 
going,"  he  added,  derisively. 

Cunningham  began  to  feel  very  desperate  in- 
deed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  slowly  and  carefully.  "If 
there  is  a  train  that  leaves  any  time  to-night  for 
Wellesley,  break  the  news  to  me  gently,  and 


Time  and  Tide 


then  come  and  put  me  on  it  half  an  hour  before 
it  starts,  and  tie  my  ticket  to  my  coat,  and  put 
me  in  charge  of  the  conductor.  Otherwise — " 
he  went  on  impressively,  "I  may  get  lost,  or 
wreck  the  train,  or  stop  the  locomotive." 

Then  he  went  back  to  Miss  Ronald  and  told 
her  the  news.  She  had  had  a  very  pronounced 
liking  for  Mr.  Perry  Cunningham  up  to  that 
time,  but  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  seemed  ter- 
ribly lacking  in  practicality,  and  that  she  was 
very  much  disappointed  in  him.  She  decided 
firmly  what  her  answer  would  be  to  him  if  ever 
he  should  propose — though  it  is  but  fair  to  state 
that  Mr.  Cunningham  had  no  thought  of  propos- 
ing, unless  it  was  proposing  how  best  to  get 
back  to  College. 

At  11.25  the  last  accommodation  train  pulled 
out  with  a  very  miserable  young  woman  and  a 
very  remorseful  young  man  on  it. 

At  exactly  12.9  it  left  them  standing  on  the 
platform  of  a  pretty  station,  with  not  a  cab  to 
be  seen,  wondering  how  they  could  get  up  to 
"  the  College."  Miss  Ronald  said  she  thought 
they  had  better  walk,  by  all  means ;  that  they 
had  not  had  any  excitement  or  fatigue  all  evening, 
and  that  a  mile  walk  at  midnight  would  be  just 
the  thing  for  them ;  that  they  might  run  part 
of  the  way  if  they  found  walking  too  slow,  and 

283 


Time  and.  Tide 


that  she  often  went  out  and  ran  around  a  while 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing.  (Miss  Ronald  was  getting  sarcastic — 
misfortune  had  embittered  her  naturally  sweet 
disposition.) 

Mr.  Cunningham  said  hotly  that  he  understood 
what  she  meant,  and  that  no  one  could  possibly  be 
more  sorry  about  the  whole  thing  than  himself, 
and  that  if  necessary  he  would  come  over  in 
person  the  next  day  and  explain  it  to  the  Presi- 
dent herself.  But  Miss  Ronald  said  haughtily 
that,  owing  to  the  telegram  they  had  sent,  every- 
one probably  thought  her  safe  at  the  College, 
and  that  there  would  be  no  need  of  explana- 
tions. If  any  were  to  be  made  she  preferred  to 
make  them  herself. 

After  that  they  walked  swiftly  and  quietly 
up  the  long  shaded  paths.  The  fresh,  earthy 
smell  of  the  sward  and  early  spring  flowers, 
and  the  cry  of  the  night  birds,  and  the  big 
College  buildings  standing  out  every  now  and 
then  sharply  defined  in  the  moonlight,  or 
shadowed  by  the  great  trees,  with  here  and  there 
a  solitary  light  shining  at  some  professor's  win- 
dow, made  it  a  very  beautiful  and  impressive 
scene.  But  Miss  Ronald  was  too  unhappy  to 
think  much  about  it  and  walked  haughtily  and  si- 
lently on,  and  Cunningham  could  not  enjoy  it  for 

384 


Time  and  Tide 


the  remorse  he  felt  and  the  knowledge  that  Miss 
Ronald  —  however,  unreasonably  —  was  angry 
with  him.  Besides,  he  was  wondering  what  on 
earth  was  to  become  of  him  for  the  rest  of  the 
night.  It  was  three  miles  to  the  nearest  hotel, 
he  thought  gloomily,  and  he  would  have  to  take 
the  first  train  into  Boston  in  order  to  get  over 
to  Cambridge  in  time  for  a  lecture  which  he  did 
not  wish  to  miss. 

Miss  Clara  Arnold  awoke  very  suddenly  and 
very  thoroughly.  Her  heart  gave  an  awful 
bound  and  then  stood  quite  still  in  a  most  un- 
comfortable sort  of  way.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it — there  were  people  on  the  piazza  just 
outside  her  room  and  they  were  talking  in  low 
but  excited  tones.  All  the  horror  of  her  situa- 
tion came  upon  her,  and  in  one  instant  she 
wished  more  fervently  than  she  ever  thought 
she  could  wish  for  anything,  that  she  had  taken 
her  friends'  advice  and  had  not  decided  on  a 
room  on  the  ground  floor  opening  on  a  piazza. 
All  their  warnings  and  talk  of  burglars  and 
tramps  came  vividly  to  her  as  she  lay  there 
quaking  with  fear.  She  could  hear  quite  dis- 
tinctly the  tread  of  feet  outside,  and  the  gentle 
but  firm  shaking  of  the  big  doors  that  opened 
from  the  broad  corridor  on  the  piazza.  A  sick- 

285 


Time  and  Tide 


ening  sense  of  fear  possessed  her  and  a  suffocat- 
ing pressure  was  on  her  lungs.  She  wondered 
with  all  her  soul  where  the  night-watchman  was, 
and  whether  she  had  better  scream  or  lie  quite 
still.  She  was  trying  to  decide  this  when  she 
thought  she  heard  her  name  called.  She  sat  up, 
listening  intently.  And  then  she  heard  quite 
distinctly  a  girl's  voice  saying,  hopelessly  : 

"  It's  no  use — you  can't  get  that  door  open 
and  I  can't  make  Clara  hear  ! " 

Miss  Arnold  gave  a  gasp  and  then  jumped  out 
of  bed  and  into  a  tea-gown  and  Turkish  slippers. 
She  went  quickly  into  her  study  and  called  soft- 
ly to  the  girl  outside. 

"  Elise,  is  that  you  ?  Just  wait  a  minute !  " 
and  then  there  was  more  muffled  talk  outside 
and  a  man's  voice  in  a  relieved  way  saying : 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right  now — how  glad  I  am !  I — I 
wish  I  could  begin  to  tell  you,  Miss  Ronald, 
how  awfully  cut  up  I  am  about  it " — but  the  girl 
stopped  him. 

"I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Cunningham,"  she 
said,  stiffly.  "You  had  better  go  now.  I  am 
sony  there  is  no  hotel  nearer."  And  then  Miss 
Arnold  heard  a  muttered  good-night  and  the 
crunch  of  footsteps  on  the  gravel,  and  as  she 
opened  the  doors  a  moment  later  Miss  Eonald 
fell  limply  into  her  arms. 


Time  and  Tide 


They  sat  up  and  talked  it  all  over  for  an  hour, 
and  Miss  Ronald  said  she  was  intensely  disap- 
pointed in  Perry  Cunningham,  and  that  she  could 
never,  never  forgive  him.  Miss  Arnold  con- 
tended that  she  did  not  quite  see  what  there  was 
to  forgive  ;  it  had  all  been  unfortunate,  and  she 
thought  that  Mr.  Cunningham  had  done  all  he 
could — that  he  hadn't  kept  the  train  from  stop- 
ping at  Allston,  nor  did  he  make  the  cab  inn  into 
the  ice- wagon,  nor  could  he  compel  the  New  York 
express  to  stop  for  them,  and  that  if  he  forgot 
to  look  at  his  watch  at  the  Thorndyke — why,  she 
did  so  too.  And  she  told  Miss  Ronald  frankly 
that  she  might  have  been  more  civil  to  him, 
considering  that  he  had  had  all  the  trouble  on 
her  account  and  was  now  walking  three  miles  in 
order  to  get  a  place  in  which  to  sleep  for  three 
hours.  And  she  added  that  she  thought  if  any- 
one was  to  be  angry  about  the  affair  it  was  her- 
self, since  she  had  taken  Miss  Ronald  for  a  bur- 
glar and  had  been  frightened  nearly  to  death. 
And  finally  Miss  Ronald  grew  rather  remorse- 
ful at  the  thought  of  how  she  had  sent  the  boy 
off,  and  of  how  truly  considerate  he  had  been 
through  the  whole  affair,  and  of  what  good 
friends  they  had  once  been,  and  she  went  to 
sleep  with  the  good  resolution  to  write  him  a 
very  nice  note  the  next  day.  And  on  the  follow- 

287 


Time  and  Tide 


ing  morning,  when  an  immense  box  of  roses  came 
with  Mr.  Perry  Cunningham's  card  tucked  hum- 
bly in  one  corner  and  almost  out  of  sight,  Miss 
Ronald  restored  him  to  full  f avor  and  wrote  him 
a  charming  letter  inviting  him  out  for  the  next 
week  to  Float-Day. 


288 


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